LO, praise of
the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed
Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard,
and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the
Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a
tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls.
Since erst he lay
friendless, a
foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed
under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him
the folk, both far and near,
who house by the
whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts:
a good king he!
To him an heir
was afterward born,
a son in his
halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the
folk, feeling their woe
that erst they
had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while;
the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of
Wonder, with world’s renown.
Famed was this
Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in
the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a
youth to quit him well
with his
father’s friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him,
aged, in after days,
come warriors
willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal:
by lauded deeds
shall an earl
have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared
at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to
the shelter of God.
Then they bore
him over to ocean’s billow,
loving clansmen,
as late he charged them,
while wielded
words the winsome Scyld,
the leader
beloved who long had ruled....
In the roadstead
rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked,
outbound, atheling’s barge:
there laid they
down their darling lord
on the breast of
the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the
mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far
was freighted with him.
No ship have I
known so nobly dight
with weapons of
war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate
and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard
that hence should go
far o’er the
flood with him floating away.
No less these
loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes’ huge
treasure, than those had done
who in former
time forth had sent him
sole on the
seas, a suckling child.
High o’er his
head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove
banner; let billows take him,
gave him to
ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their
mood. No man is able
to say in sooth,
no son of the halls,
no hero ‘neath
heaven, — who harbored that freight!
Now Beowulf bode
in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved,
and long he ruled
in fame with all
folk, since his father had gone
away from the
world, till awoke an heir,
haughty
Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy,
the Scyldings glad.
Then, one after
one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain
of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then
Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that
— was —’s queen,
the
Heathoscylfing’s helpmate dear.
To Hrothgar was
given such glory of war,
such honor of
combat, that all his kin
obeyed him
gladly till great grew his band
of youthful
comrades. It came in his mind
to bid his
henchmen a hall uprear,
a master
mead-house, mightier far
than ever was
seen by the sons of earth,
and within it,
then, to old and young
he would all
allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the
land and the lives of his men.
Wide, I heard,
was the work commanded,
for many a tribe
this mid-earth round,
to fashion the
folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid
achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the
noblest: Heorot he named it
whose message
had might in many a land.
Not reckless of
promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at
banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled
wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious
flame. Nor far was that day
when father and
son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and
hatred that woke again.
endured the dole
in his dark abode,
that he heard
each day the din of revel
high in the
hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of
the singer. He sang who knew
tales of the
early time of man,
how the Almighty
made the earth,
fairest fields
enfolded by water,
set, triumphant,
sun and moon
for a light to
lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided
bright the breast of earth
with limbs and
leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings
that breathe and move.
So lived the
clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life,
till one began
to fashion
evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this
monster grim was called,
march-riever
mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and
fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless
wight a while had kept
since the
Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain
was the killing avenged
by sovran God
for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his
feud, and far was he driven,
for the
slaughter’s sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke
all that woful breed,
Etins and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the
giants that warred with God
weary while: but
their wage was paid them!
WENT he forth to
find at fall of night
that haughty
house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes,
outrevelled, to rest had gone.
Found within it
the atheling band
asleep after
feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human
hardship. Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy,
he grasped betimes,
wrathful,
reckless, from resting-places,
thirty of the
thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell
spoil, faring homeward,
laden with slaughter,
his lair to seek.
Then at the
dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of
Grendel to men was known;
then after
wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the
morn. The mighty chief,
atheling
excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe
for the loss of his thanes,
when once had
been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst:
too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too
loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night
returning, anew began
ruthless murder;
he recked no whit,
firm in his
guilt, of the feud and crime.
They were easy
to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote
their rest at night,
bed in the
bowers, when that bale was shown,
was seen in
sooth, with surest token, —
the
hall-thane’s hate. Such held themselves
far and fast who
the fiend outran!
Thus ruled
unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all;
until empty stood
that lordly
building, and long it bode so.
Twelve years’
tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of
Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares.
There came unhidden
tidings true to
the tribes of men,
in sorrowful
songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed
Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and
massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, —
refused consent
to deal with any
of Daneland’s earls,
make pact of
peace, or compound for gold:
still less did
the wise men ween to get
great fee for
the feud from his fiendish hands.
But the evil one
ambushed old and young
death-shadow
dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked
in the livelong night
of misty
moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts
of these Hell-Runes be.
Such heaping of
horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer,
wrought unceasing,
harassings
heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright
hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne’er could
the prince approach his throne,
— ‘twas judgment
of God, — or have joy in his hall.
Sore was the
sorrow to Scyldings’-friend,
heart-rending
misery. Many nobles
sat assembled,
and searched out counsel
how it were best
for bold-hearted men
against
harassing terror to try their hand.
Whiles they
vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings,
asked with words
that the
slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of
their people. Their practice this,
their heathen
hope; ‘twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their
mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of
Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor
Heaven’s-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder.
— Woe for that man
who in harm and
hatred hales his soul
to fiery
embraces; — nor favor nor change
awaits he ever. But
well for him
that after
death-day may draw to his Lord,
THUS seethed
unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of
these days; not wisest men
assuaged his
sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and
long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of
burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in
his home Hygelac’s thane,
great among
Geats, of Grendel’s doings.
He was the
mightiest man of valor
in that same day
of this our life,
stalwart and
stately. A stout wave-walker
he bade make
ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o’er the
swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble
monarch who needed men!
The prince’s
journey by prudent folk
was little
blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted the
hero, and hailed good omens.
And now the bold
one from bands of Geats
comrades chose,
the keenest of warriors
e’er he could
find; with fourteen men
the
sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to
the land’s confines.
Time had now
flown; afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff.
On board they climbed,
warriors ready;
waves were churning
sea with sand;
the sailors bore
on the breast of
the bark their bright array,
their mail and
weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing
way, the well-braced craft.
Then moved o’er
the waters by might of the wind
that bark like a
bird with breast of foam,
till in season
due, on the second day,
the curved prow
such course had run
that sailors now
could see the land,
sea-cliffs
shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad.
Their haven was found,
their journey
ended. Up then quickly
the Weders’ clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored their
sea-wood, with armor clashing
and gear of
battle: God they thanked
for passing in
peace o’er the paths of the sea.
Now saw from the
cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that
watched the water-side,
how they bore
o’er the gangway glittering shields,
war-gear in
readiness; wonder seized him
to know what
manner of men they were.
Straight to the
strand his steed he rode,
Hrothgar’s
henchman; with hand of might
he shook his
spear, and spake in parley.
“Who are ye,
then, ye armed men,
mailed folk,
that yon mighty vessel
have urged thus
over the ocean ways,
here o’er the
waters? A warden I,
sentinel set
o’er the sea-march here,
lest any foe to
the folk of Danes
with harrying
fleet should harm the land.
No aliens ever
at ease thus bore them,
linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave
clearly ye lack
from clansmen here,
my folk’s
agreement. — A greater ne’er saw I
of warriors in
world than is one of you, —
yon hero in harness!
No henchman he
worthied by
weapons, if witness his features,
his peerless
presence! I pray you, though, tell
your folk and
home, lest hence ye fare
suspect to
wander your way as spies
in Danish land.
Now, dwellers afar,
ocean-travellers,
take from me
simple advice:
the sooner the better
I hear of the
country whence ye came.”
To him the
stateliest spake in answer;
the warriors’
leader his word-hoard unlocked:—
“We are by kin
of the clan of Geats,
and Hygelac’s
own hearth-fellows we.
To folk afar was
my father known,
noble atheling,
Ecgtheow named.
Full of winters,
he fared away
aged from earth;
he is honored still
through width of
the world by wise men all.
To thy lord and
liege in loyal mood
we hasten
hither, to Healfdene’s son,
people-protector:
be pleased to advise us!
To that
mighty-one come we on mickle errand,
to the lord of
the Danes; nor deem I right
that aught be
hidden. We hear — thou knowest
if sooth it is —
the saying of men,
that amid the
Scyldings a scathing monster,
dark ill-doer,
in dusky nights
shows terrific
his rage unmatched,
hatred and
murder. To Hrothgar I
in greatness of
soul would succor bring,
so the
Wise-and-Brave may worst his foes, —
if ever the end
of ills is fated,
of cruel
contest, if cure shall follow,
and the boiling
care-waves cooler grow;
else ever
afterward anguish-days
he shall suffer
in sorrow while stands in place
high on its hill
that house unpeered!”
Astride his
steed, the strand-ward answered,
clansman
unquailing: “The keen-souled thane
must be skilled
to sever and sunder duly
words and works,
if he well intends.
I gather, this
band is graciously bent
to the
Scyldings’ master. March, then, bearing
weapons and
weeds the way I show you.
I will bid my
men your boat meanwhile
to guard for
fear lest foemen come, —
your new-tarred
ship by shore of ocean
faithfully
watching till once again
it waft o’er the
waters those well-loved thanes,
— winding-neck’d
wood, — to Weders’ bounds,
heroes such as
the hest of fate
shall succor and
save from the shock of war.”
They bent them
to march, — the boat lay still,
fettered by
cable and fast at anchor,
broad-bosomed
ship. — Then shone the boars
over the
cheek-guard; chased with gold,
keen and
gleaming, guard it kept
o’er the man of
war, as marched along
heroes in haste,
till the hall they saw,
broad of gable
and bright with gold:
that was the
fairest, ‘mid folk of earth,
of houses ‘neath
heaven, where Hrothgar lived,
and the gleam of
it lightened o’er lands afar.
The sturdy
shieldsman showed that bright
burg-of-the-boldest;
bade them go
straightway
thither; his steed then turned,
hardy hero, and
hailed them thus:—
“Tis time that I
fare from you. Father Almighty
in grace and
mercy guard you well,
safe in your
seekings. Seaward I go,
‘gainst hostile
warriors hold my watch.”
STONE-BRIGHT the
street: it showed the way
to the crowd of
clansmen. Corselets glistened
hand-forged,
hard; on their harness bright
the steel ring
sang, as they strode along
in mail of
battle, and marched to the hall.
There, weary of
ocean, the wall along
they set their
bucklers, their broad shields, down,
and bowed them
to bench: the breastplates clanged,
war-gear of men;
their weapons stacked,
spears of the
seafarers stood together,
gray-tipped ash:
that iron band
was worthily
weaponed! — A warrior proud
asked of the
heroes their home and kin.
“Whence, now,
bear ye burnished shields,
harness gray and
helmets grim,
spears in
multitude? Messenger, I,
Hrothgar’s
herald! Heroes so many
ne’er met I as
strangers of mood so strong.
‘Tis plain that
for prowess, not plunged into exile,
for high-hearted
valor, Hrothgar ye seek!”
Him the
sturdy-in-war bespake with words,
proud earl of
the Weders answer made,
hardy ‘neath
helmet:—”Hygelac’s, we,
fellows at
board; I am Beowulf named.
I am seeking to
say to the son of Healfdene
this mission of
mine, to thy master-lord,
the doughty
prince, if he deign at all
grace that we
greet him, the good one, now.”
Wulfgar spake,
the Wendles’ chieftain,
whose might of
mind to many was known,
his courage and
counsel: “The king of Danes,
the Scyldings’
friend, I fain will tell,
the
Breaker-of-Rings, as the boon thou askest,
the famed
prince, of thy faring hither,
and, swiftly
after, such answer bring
as the doughty
monarch may deign to give.”
Hied then in
haste to where Hrothgar sat
white-haired and
old, his earls about him,
till the stout
thane stood at the shoulder there
of the Danish
king: good courtier he!
Wulfgar spake to
his winsome lord:—
“Hither have
fared to thee far-come men
o’er the paths
of ocean, people of Geatland;
and the
stateliest there by his sturdy band
is Beowulf
named. This boon they seek,
that they, my
master, may with thee
have speech at
will: nor spurn their prayer
to give them
hearing, gracious Hrothgar!
In weeds of the
warrior worthy they,
methinks, of our
liking; their leader most surely,
a hero that
hither his henchmen has led.”
HROTHGAR
answered, helmet of Scyldings:—
“I knew him of
yore in his youthful days;
his aged father
was Ecgtheow named,
to whom, at
home, gave Hrethel the Geat
his only
daughter. Their offspring bold
fares hither to
seek the steadfast friend.
And seamen, too,
have said me this, —
who carried my
gifts to the Geatish court,
thither for
thanks, — he has thirty men’s
heft of grasp in
the gripe of his hand,
the
bold-in-battle. Blessed God
out of his mercy
this man hath sent
to Danes of the
West, as I ween indeed,
against horror
of Grendel. I hope to give
the good youth
gold for his gallant thought.
Be thou in
haste, and bid them hither,
clan of kinsmen,
to come before me;
and add this
word, — they are welcome guests
to folk of the
Danes.” [To the door of the hall
Wulfgar went]
and the word declared:—
“To you this
message my master sends,
East-Danes’
king, that your kin he knows,
hardy heroes,
and hails you all
welcome hither
o’er waves of the sea!
Ye may wend your
way in war-attire,
and under
helmets Hrothgar greet;
but let here the
battle-shields bide your parley,
and wooden
war-shafts wait its end.”
Uprose the
mighty one, ringed with his men,
brave band of
thanes: some bode without,
battle-gear
guarding, as bade the chief.
Then hied that
troop where the herald led them,
under Heorot’s
roof: [the hero strode,]
hardy ‘neath
helm, till the hearth he neared.
Beowulf spake, —
his breastplate gleamed,
war-net woven by
wit of the smith:—
“Thou Hrothgar,
hail! Hygelac’s I,
kinsman and
follower. Fame a plenty
have I gained in
youth! These Grendel-deeds
I heard in my
home-land heralded clear.
Seafarers say
how stands this hall,
of buildings
best, for your band of thanes
empty and idle,
when evening sun
in the harbor of
heaven is hidden away.
So my vassals
advised me well, —
brave and wise,
the best of men, —
O sovran
Hrothgar, to seek thee here,
for my nerve and
my might they knew full well.
Themselves had
seen me from slaughter come
blood-flecked
from foes, where five I bound,
and that wild
brood worsted. I’ the waves I slew
nicors by night, in need and peril
avenging the
Weders, whose woe they sought, —
crushing the
grim ones. Grendel now,
monster cruel,
be mine to quell
in single
battle! So, from thee,
thou sovran of
the Shining-Danes,
Scyldings’-bulwark,
a boon I seek, —
and,
Friend-of-the-folk, refuse it not,
O
Warriors’-shield, now I’ve wandered far, —
that I alone
with my liegemen here,
this hardy band,
may Heorot purge!
More I hear,
that the monster dire,
in his wanton
mood, of weapons recks not;
hence shall I
scorn — so Hygelac stay,
king of my
kindred, kind to me! —
brand or buckler
to bear in the fight,
gold-colored
targe: but with gripe alone
must I front the
fiend and fight for life,
foe against foe.
Then faith be his
in the doom of
the Lord whom death shall take.
Fain, I ween, if
the fight he win,
in this hall of
gold my Geatish band
will he fearless
eat, — as oft before, —
my noblest
thanes. Nor need’st thou then
to hide my
head; for his shall I be,
dyed in gore, if
death must take me;
and my
blood-covered body he’ll bear as prey,
ruthless devour
it, the roamer-lonely,
with my
life-blood redden his lair in the fen:
no further for
me need’st food prepare!
To Hygelac send,
if Hild should take me,
best of
war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor excellent,
heirloom of Hrethel
and work of
Wayland. Fares Wyrd as she must.”
HROTHGAR spake,
the Scyldings’-helmet:—
“For fight
defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and
save, thou hast sought us here.
Thy father’s
combat a feud enkindled
when Heatholaf
with hand he slew
among the
Wylfings; his Weder kin
for horror of
fighting feared to hold him.
Fleeing, he sought
our South-Dane folk,
over surge of
ocean the Honor-Scyldings,
when first I was
ruling the folk of Danes,
wielded,
youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold
of heroes. Heorogar was dead,
my elder
brother, had breathed his last,
Healfdene’s
bairn: he was better than I!
Straightway the
feud with fee I settled,
to the Wylfings
sent, o’er watery ridges,
treasures olden:
oaths he swore me.
Sore is my soul
to say to any
of the race of
man what ruth for me
in Heorot
Grendel with hate hath wrought,
what sudden
harryings. Hall-folk fail me,
my warriors
wane; for Wyrd hath swept them
into Grendel’s
grasp. But God is able
this deadly foe
from his deeds to turn!
Boasted full
oft, as my beer they drank,
earls o’er the
ale-cup, armed men,
that they would
bide in the beer-hall here,
Grendel’s attack
with terror of blades.
Then was this
mead-house at morning tide
dyed with gore,
when the daylight broke,
all the boards
of the benches blood-besprinkled,
gory the hall: I
had heroes the less,
doughty
dear-ones that death had reft.
— But sit to the
banquet, unbind thy words,
hardy hero, as
heart shall prompt thee.”
in the
banquet-hall on bench assigned,
sturdy-spirited,
sat them down,
hardy-hearted. A
henchman attended,
carried the
carven cup in hand,
served the clear
mead. Oft minstrels sang
blithe in
Heorot. Heroes revelled,
no dearth of
warriors, Weder and Dane.
UNFERTH spake,
the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the
feet of the Scyldings’ lord,
unbound the
battle-runes. — Beowulf’s quest,
sturdy
seafarer’s, sorely galled him;
ever he envied
that other men
should more
achieve in middle-earth
of fame under
heaven than he himself. —
“Art thou that
Beowulf, Breca’s rival,
who emulous swam
on the open sea,
when for pride
the pair of you proved the floods,
and wantonly
dared in waters deep
to risk your
lives? No living man,
or lief or
loath, from your labor dire
could you
dissuade, from swimming the main.
Ocean-tides with
your arms ye covered,
with strenuous
hands the sea-streets measured,
swam o’er the
waters. Winter’s storm
rolled the rough
waves. In realm of sea
a sennight
strove ye. In swimming he topped thee,
had more of
main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to
the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied
to his home so dear
beloved of his
liegemen, to land of Brondings,
fastness fair,
where his folk he ruled,
town and
treasure. In triumph o’er thee
Beanstan’s
bairn his boast achieved.
So ween I for
thee a worse adventure
— though in
buffet of battle thou brave hast been,
in struggle
grim, — if Grendel’s approach
thou darst await
through the watch of night!”
Beowulf spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“What a deal
hast uttered, dear my Unferth,
drunken with
beer, of Breca now,
told of his
triumph! Truth I claim it,
that I had more
of might in the sea
than any man
else, more ocean-endurance.
We twain had
talked, in time of youth,
and made our
boast, — we were merely boys,
striplings
still, — to stake our lives
far at sea: and
so we performed it.
Naked swords, as
we swam along,
we held in hand,
with hope to guard us
against the
whales. Not a whit from me
could he float
afar o’er the flood of waves,
haste o’er the
billows; nor him I abandoned.
Together we
twain on the tides abode
five nights full
till the flood divided us,
churning waves
and chillest weather,
darkling night,
and the northern wind
ruthless rushed
on us: rough was the surge.
Now the wrath of
the sea-fish rose apace;
yet me ‘gainst
the monsters my mailed coat,
hard and hand-linked,
help afforded, —
battle-sark
braided my breast to ward,
garnished with
gold. There grasped me firm
and haled me to
bottom the hated foe,
with grimmest
gripe. ‘Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the
monster with point of sword,
with blade of
battle: huge beast of the sea
was whelmed by
the hurly through hand of mine.
ME thus often
the evil monsters
thronging
threatened. With thrust of my sword,
the darling, I
dealt them due return!
Nowise had they
bliss from their booty then
to devour their
victim, vengeful creatures,
seated to
banquet at bottom of sea;
but at break of
day, by my brand sore hurt,
on the edge of
ocean up they lay,
put to sleep by
the sword. And since, by them
on the
fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk
are never
molested. — Light from east,
came bright
God’s beacon; the billows sank,
so that I saw
the sea-cliffs high,
windy walls. For
Wyrd oft saveth
earl undoomed if
he doughty be!
And so it came
that I killed with my sword
nine of the
nicors. Of night-fought battles
ne’er heard I a
harder ‘neath heaven’s dome,
nor adrift on
the deep a more desolate man!
Yet I came
unharmed from that hostile clutch,
though spent
with swimming. The sea upbore me,
flood of the
tide, on Finnish land,
the welling
waters. No wise of thee
have I heard men
tell such terror of falchions,
bitter battle.
Breca ne’er yet,
not one of you
pair, in the play of war
such daring deed
has done at all
with bloody
brand, — I boast not of it! —
though thou wast
the bane of thy brethren dear,
thy closest kin,
whence curse of hell
awaits thee,
well as thy wit may serve!
For I say in
sooth, thou son of Ecglaf,
never had
Grendel these grim deeds wrought,
monster dire, on
thy master dear,
in Heorot such
havoc, if heart of thine
were as
battle-bold as thy boast is loud!
But he has found
no feud will happen;
from sword-clash
dread of your Danish clan
he vaunts him
safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.
He forces
pledges, favors none
of the land of
Danes, but lustily murders,
fights and
feasts, nor feud he dreads
from Spear-Dane
men. But speedily now
shall I prove
him the prowess and pride of the Geats,
shall bid him
battle. Blithe to mead
go he that
listeth, when light of dawn
this morrow
morning o’er men of earth,
ether-robed sun
from the south shall beam!”
Joyous then was
the Jewel-giver,
hoar-haired,
war-brave; help awaited
the
Bright-Danes’ prince, from Beowulf hearing,
folk’s good
shepherd, such firm resolve.
Then was
laughter of liegemen loud resounding
with winsome
words. Came Wealhtheow forth,
queen of
Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy,
gold-decked,
greeting the guests in hall;
and the
high-born lady handed the cup
first to the
East-Danes’ heir and warden,
bade him be
blithe at the beer-carouse,
the land’s
beloved one. Lustily took he
banquet and beaker,
battle-famed king.
Through the hall
then went the Helmings’ Lady,
to younger and
older everywhere
carried the cup,
till come the moment
when the
ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted,
to Beowulf bore
the beaker of mead.
She greeted the
Geats’ lord, God she thanked,
in wisdom’s
words, that her will was granted,
that at last on
a hero her hope could lean
for comfort in
terrors. The cup he took,
hardy-in-war,
from Wealhtheow’s hand,
and answer
uttered the eager-for-combat.
Beowulf spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“This was my
thought, when my thanes and I
bent to the
ocean and entered our boat,
that I would
work the will of your people
fully, or
fighting fall in death,
in fiend’s gripe
fast. I am firm to do
an earl’s brave
deed, or end the days
of this life of
mine in the mead-hall here.”
Well these words
to the woman seemed,
Beowulf’s
battle-boast. — Bright with gold
the stately dame
by her spouse sat down.
Again, as erst,
began in hall
warriors’
wassail and words of power,
the proud-band’s
revel, till presently
the son of
Healfdene hastened to seek
rest for the
night; he knew there waited
fight for the
fiend in that festal hall,
when the sheen
of the sun they saw no more,
and dusk of
night sank darkling nigh,
and shadowy shapes
came striding on,
wan under
welkin. The warriors rose.
Man to man, he
made harangue,
Hrothgar to
Beowulf, bade him hail,
let him wield
the wine hall: a word he added:—
“Never to any
man erst I trusted,
since I could
heave up hand and shield,
this noble
Dane-Hall, till now to thee.
Have now and
hold this house unpeered;
remember thy
glory; thy might declare;
watch for the
foe! No wish shall fail thee
if thou bidest
the battle with bold-won life.”
defence-of-Scyldings,
forth from hall;
fain would the
war-lord Wealhtheow seek,
couch of his
queen. The King-of-Glory
against this
Grendel a guard had set,
so heroes heard,
a hall-defender,
who warded the
monarch and watched for the monster.
In truth, the
Geats’ prince gladly trusted
his mettle, his
might, the mercy of God!
Cast off then
his corselet of iron,
helmet from
head; to his henchman gave, —
choicest of
weapons, — the well-chased sword,
bidding him
guard the gear of battle.
Spake then his
Vaunt the valiant man,
Beowulf Geat,
ere the bed be sought:—
“Of force in
fight no feebler I count me,
in grim
war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.
Not with the
sword, then, to sleep of death
his life will I
give, though it lie in my power.
No skill is his
to strike against me,
my shield to hew
though he hardy be,
bold in battle;
we both, this night,
shall spurn the
sword, if he seek me here,
unweaponed, for
war. Let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on
which side soever
doom decree as
he deemeth right.”
Reclined then
the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held
the head of the
earl, while all about him
seamen hardy on
hall-beds sank.
None of them
thought that thence their steps
to the folk and
fastness that fostered them,
to the land they
loved, would lead them back!
Full well they
wist that on warriors many
battle-death
seized, in the banquet-hall,
of Danish clan.
But comfort and help,
war-weal
weaving, to Weder folk
the Master gave,
that, by might of one,
over their enemy
all prevailed,
by single
strength. In sooth ‘tis told
that highest God
o’er human kind
hath wielded
ever! — Thro’ wan night striding,
came the
walker-in-shadow. Warriors slept
whose hest was
to guard the gabled hall, —
all save one.
‘Twas widely known
that against
God’s will the ghostly ravager
him could not hurl to haunts of darkness;
wakeful, ready,
with warrior’s wrath,
bold he bided
the battle’s issue.
THEN from the
moorland, by misty crags,
with God’s wrath
laden, Grendel came.
The monster was
minded of mankind now
sundry to seize
in the stately house.
Under welkin he
walked, till the wine-palace there,
gold-hall of
men, he gladly discerned,
flashing with
fretwork. Not first time, this,
that he the home
of Hrothgar sought, —
yet ne’er in his
life-day, late or early,
such hardy
heroes, such hall-thanes, found!
To the house the
warrior walked apace,
parted from
peace; the portal opended,
though with
forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,
and baleful he
burst in his blatant rage,
the house’s
mouth. All hastily, then,
o’er fair-paved
floor the fiend trod on,
ireful he
strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful flashes,
like flame to see.
He spied in hall
the hero-band,
kin and clansmen
clustered asleep,
hardy liegemen.
Then laughed his heart;
for the monster
was minded, ere morn should dawn,
savage, to sever
the soul of each,
life from body,
since lusty banquet
waited his will!
But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any
more of men on earth
after that
evening. Eagerly watched
Hygelac’s
kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would
fare in fell attack.
Not that the
monster was minded to pause!
Straightway he
seized a sleeping warrior
for the first,
and tore him fiercely asunder,
the bone-frame
bit, drank blood in streams,
swallowed him
piecemeal: swiftly thus
the lifeless
corse was clear devoured,
e’en feet and
hands. Then farther he hied;
for the hardy
hero with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe
with fiendish claw,
for the hero
reclining, — who clutched it boldly,
prompt to
answer, propped on his arm.
Soon then saw
that shepherd-of-evils
that never he
met in this middle-world,
in the ways of
earth, another wight
with heavier
hand-gripe; at heart he feared,
sorrowed in
soul, — none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he
flee, his fastness seek,
the den of
devils: no doings now
such as oft he
had done in days of old!
Then bethought
him the hardy Hygelac-thane
of his boast at
evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his
foe, whose fingers cracked.
The fiend made
off, but the earl close followed.
The monster
meant — if he might at all —
to fling himself
free, and far away
fly to the fens,
— knew his fingers’ power
in the gripe of
the grim one. Gruesome march
to Heorot this
monster of harm had made!
Din filled the
room; the Danes were bereft,
castle-dwellers
and clansmen all,
earls, of their
ale. Angry were both
those savage
hall-guards: the house resounded.
Wonder it was
the wine-hall firm
in the strain of
their struggle stood, to earth
the fair house
fell not; too fast it was
within and
without by its iron bands
craftily
clamped; though there crashed from sill
many a
mead-bench — men have told me —
gay with gold,
where the grim foes wrestled.
So well had
weened the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at
all might any man
that
bone-decked, brave house break asunder,
crush by craft,
— unless clasp of fire
in smoke
engulfed it. — Again uprose
din redoubled.
Danes of the North
with fear and
frenzy were filled, each one,
who from the
wall that wailing heard,
God’s foe
sounding his grisly song,
cry of the
conquered, clamorous pain
from captive of
hell. Too closely held him
he who of men in
might was strongest
in that same day
of this our life.
NOT in any wise
would the earls’-defence
suffer that
slaughterous stranger to live,
useless deeming
his days and years
to men on earth.
Now many an earl
of Beowulf
brandished blade ancestral,
fain the life of
their lord to shield,
their praised
prince, if power were theirs;
never they knew,
— as they neared the foe,
hardy-hearted
heroes of war,
aiming their
swords on every side
the accursed to
kill, — no keenest blade,
no farest of
falchions fashioned on earth,
could harm or
hurt that hideous fiend!
He was safe, by
his spells, from sword of battle,
from edge of
iron. Yet his end and parting
on that same day
of this our life
woful should be,
and his wandering soul
far off flit to
the fiends’ domain.
Soon he found,
who in former days,
harmful in heart
and hated of God,
on many a man
such murder wrought,
that the frame
of his body failed him now.
For him the keen-souled
kinsman of Hygelac
held in hand;
hateful alive
was each to
other. The outlaw dire
took mortal
hurt; a mighty wound
showed on his
shoulder, and sinews cracked,
and the
bone-frame burst. To Beowulf now
the glory was
given, and Grendel thence
death-sick his
den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode:
he knew too well
that here was
the last of life, an end
of his days on
earth. — To all the Danes
by that bloody
battle the boon had come.
From ravage had
rescued the roving stranger
Hrothgar’s hall;
the hardy and wise one
had purged it
anew. His night-work pleased him,
his deed and its
honor. To Eastern Danes
had the valiant
Geat his vaunt made good,
all their sorrow
and ills assuaged,
their bale of
battle borne so long,
and all the dole
they erst endured
pain a-plenty. —
‘Twas proof of this,
when the
hardy-in-fight a hand laid down,
arm and
shoulder, — all, indeed,
of Grendel’s
gripe, — ‘neath the gabled roof’
MANY at morning,
as men have told me,
warriors
gathered the gift-hall round,
folk-leaders faring
from far and near,
o’er
wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,
trace of the
traitor. Not troublous seemed
the enemy’s end
to any man
who saw by the
gait of the graceless foe
how the
weary-hearted, away from thence,
baffled in
battle and banned, his steps
death-marked
dragged to the devils’ mere.
Bloody the
billows were boiling there,
turbid the tide
of tumbling waves
horribly
seething, with sword-blood hot,
by that doomed
one dyed, who in den of the moor
laid forlorn his
life adown,
his heathen
soul,-and hell received it.
Home then rode
the hoary clansmen
from that merry
journey, and many a youth,
on horses white,
the hardy warriors,
back from the
mere. Then Beowulf’s glory
eager they
echoed, and all averred
that from sea to
sea, or south or north,
there was no
other in earth’s domain,
under vault of
heaven, more valiant found,
of warriors none
more worthy to rule!
(On their lord
beloved they laid no slight,
gracious
Hrothgar: a good king he!)
From time to
time, the tried-in-battle
their gray
steeds set to gallop amain,
and ran a race
when the road seemed fair.
From time to
time, a thane of the king,
who had made
many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,
stored with
sagas and songs of old,
bound word to
word in well-knit rime,
welded his lay;
this warrior soon
of Beowulf’s
quest right cleverly sang,
and artfully
added an excellent tale,
in well-ranged
words, of the warlike deeds
he had heard in
saga of Sigemund.
Strange the
story: he said it all, —
the Waelsing’s
wanderings wide, his struggles,
which never were
told to tribes of men,
the feuds and
the frauds, save to Fitela only,
when of these
doings he deigned to speak,
uncle to nephew;
as ever the twain
stood side by
side in stress of war,
and multitude of
the monster kind
they had felled
with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,
when he passed
from life, no little praise;
for the
doughty-in-combat a dragon killed
that herded the
hoard: under hoary rock
the atheling
dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor
was Fitela there.
Yet so it
befell, his falchion pierced
that wondrous
worm, — on the wall it struck,
best blade; the
dragon died in its blood.
Thus had the
dread-one by daring achieved
over the
ring-hoard to rule at will,
himself to
pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,
and bore on its
bosom the beaming gold,
son of Waels;
the worm was consumed.
He had of all
heroes the highest renown
among races of
men, this refuge-of-warriors,
for deeds of
daring that decked his name
since the hand
and heart of Heremod
grew slack in
battle. He, swiftly banished
to mingle with
monsters at mercy of foes,
to death was
betrayed; for torrents of sorrow
had lamed him
too long; a load of care
to earls and
athelings all he proved.
Oft indeed, in
earlier days,
for the
warrior’s wayfaring wise men mourned,
who had hoped of
him help from harm and bale,
and had thought
their sovran’s son would thrive,
follow his
father, his folk protect,
the hoard and
the stronghold, heroes’ land,
home of
Scyldings. — But here, thanes said,
the kinsman of
Hygelac kinder seemed
to all: the
other was urged to crime!
And afresh to
the race, the fallow roads
by swift steeds
measured! The morning sun
was climbing
higher. Clansmen hastened
to the
high-built hall, those hardy-minded,
the wonder to
witness. Warden of treasure,
crowned with
glory, the king himself,
with stately
band from the bride-bower strode;
and with him the
queen and her crowd of maidens
measured the
path to the mead-house fair.
HROTHGAR spake,
— to the hall he went,
stood by the
steps, the steep roof saw,
garnished with
gold, and Grendel’s hand:—
“For the sight I
see to the Sovran Ruler
be speedy
thanks! A throng of sorrows
I have borne
from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on
wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.
It was but now
that I never more
for woes that
weighed on me waited help
long as I lived,
when, laved in blood,
stood
sword-gore-stained this stateliest house, —
widespread woe
for wise men all,
who had no hope
to hinder ever
foes infernal
and fiendish sprites
from havoc in
hall. This hero now,
by the Wielder’s
might, a work has done
that not all of
us erst could ever do
by wile and
wisdom. Lo, well can she say
whoso of women
this warrior bore
among sons of
men, if still she liveth,
that the God of
the ages was good to her
in the birth of
her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee,
of heroes best,
I shall heartily love
as mine own, my
son; preserve thou ever
this kinship
new: thou shalt never lack
wealth of the
world that I wield as mine!
Full oft for
less have I largess showered,
my precious
hoard, on a punier man,
less stout in
struggle. Thyself hast now
fulfilled such
deeds, that thy fame shall endure
through all the
ages. As ever he did,
well may the
Wielder reward thee still!”
Beowulf spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“This work of
war most willingly
we have fought,
this fight, and fearlessly dared
force of the
foe. Fain, too, were I
hadst thou but
seen himself, what time
the fiend in his
trappings tottered to fall!
Swiftly, I
thought, in strongest gripe
on his bed of
death to bind him down,
that he in the
hent of this hand of mine
should breathe
his last: but he broke away.
Him I might not
— the Maker willed not —
hinder from
flight, and firm enough hold
the
life-destroyer: too sturdy was he,
the ruthless, in
running! For rescue, however,
he left behind
him his hand in pledge,
arm and
shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed
one thus procure at all.
None the longer
liveth he, loathsome fiend,
sunk in his
sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped
in gripe of anguish,
in baleful
bonds, where bide he must,
evil outlaw,
such awful doom
as the Mighty
Maker shall mete him out.”
More silent
seemed the son of Ecglaf
in boastful
speech of his battle-deeds,
since athelings
all, through the earl’s great prowess,
beheld that
hand, on the high roof gazing,
foeman’s
fingers, — the forepart of each
of the sturdy
nails to steel was likest, —
heathen’s
“hand-spear,” hostile warrior’s
claw uncanny.
‘Twas clear, they said,
that him no
blade of the brave could touch,
how keen soever,
or cut away
that battle-hand
bloody from baneful foe.
THERE was hurry
and hest in Heorot now
for hands to
bedeck it, and dense was the throng
of men and women
the wine-hall to cleanse,
the guest-room
to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings
that were wove
on the wall, and wonders many
to delight each
mortal that looks upon them.
Though braced
within by iron bands,
that building
bright was broken sorely;
rent were its
hinges; the roof alone
held safe and
sound, when, seared with crime,
the fiendish foe
his flight essayed,
of life
despairing. — No light thing that,
the flight for
safety, — essay it who will!
Forced of fate,
he shall find his way
to the refuge
ready for race of man,
for
soul-possessors, and sons of earth;
and there his
body on bed of death
shall rest after
revel. Arrived was the hour
when to hall
proceeded Healfdene’s son:
the king himself
would sit to banquet.
Ne’er heard I of
host in haughtier throng
more graciously
gathered round giver-of-rings!
Bowed then to
bench those bearers-of-glory,
fain of the
feasting. Featly received
many a mead-cup
the mighty-in-spirit,
kinsmen who sat
in the sumptuous hall,
Hrothgar and
Hrothulf. Heorot now
was filled with
friends; the folk of Scyldings
ne’er yet had
tried the traitor’s deed.
To Beowulf gave
the bairn of Healfdene
a gold-wove
banner, guerdon of triumph,
broidered
battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;
and a splendid
sword was seen of many
borne to the
brave one. Beowulf took
cup in
hall: for such costly gifts
he suffered no
shame in that soldier throng.
For I heard of
few heroes, in heartier mood,
with four such
gifts, so fashioned with gold,
on the ale-bench
honoring others thus!
O’er the roof of
the helmet high, a ridge,
wound with
wires, kept ward o’er the head,
lest the relict-of-files should fierce invade,
sharp in the
strife, when that shielded hero
should go to
grapple against his foes.
Then the
earls’-defence on the floor bade lead
coursers eight,
with carven head-gear,
adown the hall:
one horse was decked
with a saddle
all shining and set in jewels;
‘twas the
battle-seat of the best of kings,
when to play of
swords the son of Healfdene
was fain to
fare. Ne’er failed his valor
in the crush of
combat when corpses fell.
To Beowulf over
them both then gave
the refuge-of-Ingwines
right and power,
o’er war-steeds
and weapons: wished him joy of them.
Manfully thus
the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for
heroes, that hard fight repaid
with steeds and
treasures contemned by none
who is willing
to say the sooth aright.
AND the lord of
earls, to each that came
with Beowulf
over the briny ways,
an heirloom
there at the ale-bench gave,
precious gift;
and the price bade pay
in gold for him
whom Grendel erst
murdered, — and
fain of them more had killed,
had not wisest
God their Wyrd averted,
and the
man’s brave mood. The Maker then
ruled human
kind, as here and now.
Therefore is
insight always best,
and forethought
of mind. How much awaits him
of lief and of
loath, who long time here,
through days of
warfare this world endures!
Then song and
music mingled sounds
in the presence
of Healfdene’s head-of-armies
and harping was
heard with the hero-lay
as Hrothgar’s
singer the hall-joy woke
along the
mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden
raid on the sons of Finn.
Healfdene’s
hero, Hnaef the Scylding,
was fated to
fall in the Frisian slaughter.
Hildeburh needed
not hold in value
her enemies’
honor! Innocent both
were the loved
ones she lost at the linden-play,
bairn and
brother, they bowed to fate,
stricken by
spears; ‘twas a sorrowful woman!
None doubted why
the daughter of Hoc
bewailed her
doom when dawning came,
and under the
sky she saw them lying,
kinsmen
murdered, where most she had kenned
of the sweets of
the world! By war were swept, too,
Finn’s own
liegemen, and few were left;
in the
parleying-place he could ply no longer
weapon, nor war
could he wage on Hengest,
and rescue his
remnant by right of arms
from the
prince’s thane. A pact he offered:
another dwelling
the Danes should have,
hall and
high-seat, and half the power
should fall to
them in Frisian land;
and at the
fee-gifts, Folcwald’s son
day by day the
Danes should honor,
the folk of
Hengest favor with rings,
even as truly,
with treasure and jewels,
with fretted
gold, as his Frisian kin
he meant to
honor in ale-hall there.
Pact of peace
they plighted further
on both sides
firmly. Finn to Hengest
with oath, upon
honor, openly promised
that woful
remnant, with wise-men’s aid,
nobly to govern,
so none of the guests
by word or work
should warp the treaty,
or with malice
of mind bemoan themselves
as forced to
follow their fee-giver’s slayer,
lordless men, as
their lot ordained.
Should Frisian,
moreover, with foeman’s taunt,
that murderous
hatred to mind recall,
then edge of the
sword must seal his doom.
Oaths were
given, and ancient gold
heaped from
hoard. — The hardy Scylding,
battle-thane
best, on his balefire lay.
All on the pyre
were plain to see
the gory sark,
the gilded swine-crest,
boar of hard
iron, and athelings many
slain by the
sword: at the slaughter they fell.
It was
Hildeburh’s hest, at Hnaef’s own pyre
the bairn of her
body on brands to lay,
his bones to
burn, on the balefire placed,
at his uncle’s
side. In sorrowful dirges
bewept them the
woman: great wailing ascended.
Then wound up to
welkin the wildest of death-fires,
roared o’er the
hillock: heads all were melted,
gashes burst,
and blood gushed out
from bites of the body. Balefire devoured,
greediest
spirit, those spared not by war
out of either
folk: their flower was gone.
THEN hastened
those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to
find the Frisian land,
houses and high
burg. Hengest still
through the
death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,
holding pact,
yet of home he minded,
though powerless
his ring-decked prow to drive
over the waters,
now waves rolled fierce
lashed by the
winds, or winter locked them
in icy fetters.
Then fared another
year to men’s
dwellings, as yet they do,
the sunbright
skies, that their season ever
duly await. Far
off winter was driven;
fair lay earth’s
breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to
depart, though more gladly he pondered
on wreaking his
vengeance than roaming the deep,
and how to
hasten the hot encounter
where sons of
the Frisians were sure to be.
So he escaped
not the common doom,
when Hun with
“Lafing,” the light-of-battle,
best of blades,
his bosom pierced:
its edge was
famed with the Frisian earls.
On fierce-heart
Finn there fell likewise,
on himself at
home, the horrid sword-death;
for Guthlaf and
Oslaf of grim attack
had sorrowing
told, from sea-ways landed,
mourning their
woes. Finn’s wavering spirit
bode not in
breast. The burg was reddened
with blood of
foemen, and Finn was slain,
king amid
clansmen; the queen was taken.
To their ship
the Scylding warriors bore
all the chattels
the chieftain owned,
whatever they
found in Finn’s domain
of gems and
jewels. The gentle wife
o’er paths of
the deep to the Danes they bore,
led to her land.
The lay was finished,
the gleeman’s
song. Then glad rose the revel;
bench-joy
brightened. Bearers draw
from their
“wonder-vats” wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,
under gold-crown
goes where the good pair sit,
uncle and
nephew, true each to the other one,
kindred in
amity. Unferth the spokesman
at the Scylding
lord’s feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,
his keenness of
courage, though kinsmen had found him
unsure at the
sword-play. The Scylding queen spoke:
“Quaff of this
cup, my king and lord,
breaker of
rings, and blithe be thou,
gold-friend of
men; to the Geats here speak
such words of
mildness as man should use.
Be glad with thy
Geats; of those gifts be mindful,
or near or far,
which now thou hast.
Men say to me,
as son thou wishest
yon hero to
hold. Thy Heorot purged,
jewel-hall
brightest, enjoy while thou canst,
with many a
largess; and leave to thy kin
folk and realm
when forth thou goest
to greet thy
doom. For gracious I deem
my
Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule
nobly our
youths, if thou yield up first,
prince of
Scyldings, thy part in the world.
I ween with good
he will well requite
offspring of
ours, when all he minds
that for him we
did in his helpless days
of gift and
grace to gain him honor!”
Then she turned
to the seat where her sons were placed,
Hrethric and
Hrothmund, with heroes’ bairns,
young men
together: the Geat, too, sat there,
Beowulf brave,
the brothers between.
A CUP she gave
him, with kindly greeting
and winsome
words. Of wounden gold,
she offered, to
honor him, arm-jewels twain,
corselet and
rings, and of collars the noblest
that ever I knew
the earth around.
Ne’er heard I so
mighty, ‘neath heaven’s dome,
a hoard-gem of
heroes, since Hama bore
to his
bright-built burg the Brisings’ necklace,
jewel and gem
casket. — Jealousy fled he,
Eormenric’s
hate: chose help eternal.
Hygelac Geat,
grandson of Swerting,
on the last of
his raids this ring bore with him,
under his banner
the booty defending,
the war-spoil
warding; but Wyrd o’erwhelmed him
what time, in
his daring, dangers he sought,
feud with
Frisians. Fairest of gems
he bore with him
over the beaker-of-waves,
sovran strong:
under shield he died.
Fell the corpse
of the king into keeping of Franks,
gear of the
breast, and that gorgeous ring;
weaker warriors
won the spoil,
after gripe of
battle, from Geatland’s lord,
and held the
death-field. Din rose in hall.
Wealhtheow spake
amid warriors, and said:—
“This jewel
enjoy in thy jocund youth,
Beowulf lov’d,
these battle-weeds wear,
a royal
treasure, and richly thrive!
Preserve thy
strength, and these striplings here
counsel in
kindness: requital be mine.
Hast done such
deeds, that for days to come
thou art famed
among folk both far and near,
so wide as
washeth the wave of Ocean
his windy walls.
Through the ways of life
prosper, O
prince! I pray for thee
rich
possessions. To son of mine
be helpful in
deed and uphold his joys!
Here every earl
to the other is true,
mild of mood, to
the master loyal!
Thanes are
friendly, the throng obedient,
liegemen are
revelling: list and obey!”
Went then to her
place. — That was proudest of feasts;
flowed wine for
the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,
destiny dire,
and the doom to be seen
by many an earl
when eve should come,
and Hrothgar
homeward hasten away,
royal, to rest.
The room was guarded
by an army of
earls, as erst was done.
They bared the
bench-boards; abroad they spread
beds and
bolsters. — One beer-carouser
in danger of
doom lay down in the hall. —
At their heads
they set their shields of war,
bucklers bright;
on the bench were there
over each
atheling, easy to see,
the high
battle-helmet, the haughty spear,
the corselet of
rings. ‘Twas their custom so
ever to be for
battle prepared,
at home, or
harrying, which it were,
even as oft as
evil threatened
their sovran
king. — They were clansmen good.
his rest of the
evening, — as ofttime had happened
when Grendel
guarded that golden hall,
evil wrought,
till his end drew nigh,
slaughter for
sins. ‘Twas seen and told
how an avenger
survived the fiend,
as was learned
afar. The livelong time
after that grim
fight, Grendel’s mother,
monster of
women, mourned her woe.
She was doomed
to dwell in the dreary waters,
cold
sea-courses, since Cain cut down
with edge of the
sword his only brother,
his father’s
offspring: outlawed he fled,
marked with
murder, from men’s delights
warded the
wilds. — There woke from him
such fate-sent
ghosts as Grendel, who,
war-wolf horrid,
at Heorot found
a warrior
watching and waiting the fray,
with whom the
grisly one grappled amain.
But the man
remembered his mighty power,
the glorious
gift that God had sent him,
in his Maker’s
mercy put his trust
for comfort and
help: so he conquered the foe,
felled the
fiend, who fled abject,
reft of joy, to
the realms of death,
mankind’s foe.
And his mother now,
gloomy and grim,
would go that quest
of sorrow, the
death of her son to avenge.
To Heorot came
she, where helmeted Danes
slept in the
hall. Too soon came back
old ills of the
earls, when in she burst,
the mother of
Grendel. Less grim, though, that terror,
e’en as terror
of woman in war is less,
might of maid,
than of men in arms
when,
hammer-forged, the falchion hard,
sword
gore-stained, through swine of the helm,
crested, with
keen blade carves amain.
Then was in hall
the hard-edge drawn,
the swords on
the settles, and shields a-many
firm held in
hand: nor helmet minded
nor harness of
mail, whom that horror seized.
Haste was hers;
she would hie afar
and save her
life when the liegemen saw her.
Yet a single
atheling up she seized
fast and firm,
as she fled to the moor.
He was for
Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,
of trusty
vassals betwixt the seas,
whom she killed
on his couch, a clansman famous,
in battle brave.
— Nor was Beowulf there;
another house
had been held apart,
after giving of
gold, for the Geat renowned. —
Uproar filled
Heorot; the hand all had viewed,
blood-flecked,
she bore with her; bale was returned,
dole in the
dwellings: ‘twas dire exchange
where Dane and
Geat were doomed to give
the lives of
loved ones. Long-tried king,
the hoary hero,
at heart was sad
when he knew his
noble no more lived,
and dead indeed
was his dearest thane.
To his bower was
Beowulf brought in haste,
dauntless
victor. As daylight broke,
along with his
earls the atheling lord,
with his
clansmen, came where the king abode
waiting to see
if the Wielder-of-All
would turn this
tale of trouble and woe.
Strode o’er
floor the famed-in-strife,
with his
hand-companions, — the hall resounded, —
wishing to greet
the wise old king,
Ingwines’ lord;
he asked if the night
had passed in
peace to the prince’s mind.
HROTHGAR spake,
helmet-of-Scyldings:—
“Ask not of
pleasure! Pain is renewed
to Danish folk.
Dead is Aeschere,
of Yrmenlaf the
elder brother,
my sage adviser
and stay in council,
shoulder-comrade
in stress of fight
when warriors
clashed and we warded our heads,
hewed the
helm-boars; hero famed
should be every
earl as Aeschere was!
But here in
Heorot a hand hath slain him
of wandering
death-sprite. I wot not whither,
proud of the
prey, her path she took,
fain of her
fill. The feud she avenged
that
yesternight, unyieldingly,
Grendel in
grimmest grasp thou killedst, —
seeing how long
these liegemen mine
he ruined and
ravaged. Reft of life,
in arms he fell.
Now another comes,
keen and cruel,
her kin to avenge,
faring far in
feud of blood
so that many a
thane shall think, who e’er
sorrows in soul
for that sharer of rings,
this is hardest
of heart-bales. The hand lies low
that once was
willing each wish to please.
Land-dwellers
here and liegemen mine,
who house by
those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair
they have sometimes seen,
march-stalkers
mighty the moorland haunting,
wandering
spirits: one of them seemed,
so far as my
folk could fairly judge,
of womankind;
and one, accursed,
in man’s guise
trod the misery-track
of exile, though
huger than human bulk.
Grendel in days
long gone they named him,
folk of the
land; his father they knew not,
nor any brood
that was born to him
of treacherous
spirits. Untrod is their home;
by wolf-cliffs
haunt they and windy headlands,
fenways fearful,
where flows the stream
from mountains
gliding to gloom of the rocks,
underground
flood. Not far is it hence
in measure of
miles that the mere expands,
and o’er it the
frost-bound forest hanging,
sturdily rooted,
shadows the wave.
By night is a
wonder weird to see,
fire on the
waters. So wise lived none
of the sons of
men, to search those depths!
Nay, though the
heath-rover, harried by dogs,
the horn-proud
hart, this holt should seek,
long distance
driven, his dear life first
on the brink he
yields ere he brave the plunge
to hide his
head: ‘tis no happy place!
Thence the
welter of waters washes up
wan to welkin
when winds bestir
evil storms, and
air grows dusk,
and the heavens
weep. Now is help once more
with thee alone!
The land thou knowst not,
place of fear,
where thou findest out
that sin-flecked
being. Seek if thou dare!
I will reward
thee, for waging this fight,
with ancient
treasure, as erst I did,
BEOWULF spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:
“Sorrow not,
sage! It beseems us better
friends to
avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.
Each of us all
must his end abide
in the ways of
the world; so win who may
glory ere death!
When his days are told,
that is the
warrior’s worthiest doom.
Rise, O
realm-warder! Ride we anon,
and mark the
trail of the mother of Grendel.
No harbor shall
hide her — heed my promise! —
enfolding of
field or forested mountain
or floor of the
flood, let her flee where she will!
But thou this
day endure in patience,
as I ween thou
wilt, thy woes each one.”
Leaped up the
graybeard: God he thanked,
mighty Lord, for
the man’s brave words.
For Hrothgar
soon a horse was saddled
wave-maned
steed. The sovran wise
stately rode on;
his shield-armed men
followed in
force. The footprints led
along the
woodland, widely seen,
a path o’er the
plain, where she passed, and trod
the murky moor;
of men-at-arms
she bore the
bravest and best one, dead,
him who with
Hrothgar the homestead ruled.
On then went the
atheling-born
o’er
stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,
narrow passes
and unknown ways,
headlands sheer,
and the haunts of the Nicors.
Foremost he fared, a few at his side
of the wiser
men, the ways to scan,
till he found in
a flash the forested hill
hanging over the
hoary rock,
a woful wood:
the waves below
were dyed in
blood. The Danish men
had sorrow of
soul, and for Scyldings all,
for many a hero,
‘twas hard to bear,
ill for earls,
when Aeschere’s head
they found by
the flood on the foreland there.
Waves were
welling, the warriors saw,
hot with blood;
but the horn sang oft
battle-song
bold. The band sat down,
and watched on
the water worm-like things,
sea-dragons
strange that sounded the deep,
and nicors that
lay on the ledge of the ness —
such as oft
essay at hour of morn
on the
road-of-sails their ruthless quest, —
and sea-snakes
and monsters. These started away,
swollen and
savage that song to hear,
that war-horn’s
blast. The warden of Geats,
with bolt from
bow, then balked of life,
of wave-work,
one monster, amid its heart
went the keen
war-shaft; in water it seemed
less doughty in
swimming whom death had seized.
Swift on the
billows, with boar-spears well
hooked and
barbed, it was hard beset,
done to death
and dragged on the headland,
wave-roamer
wondrous. Warriors viewed
the grisly
guest. Then girt him Beowulf
in martial mail,
nor mourned for his life.
His breastplate
broad and bright of hues,
woven by hand,
should the waters try;
well could it
ward the warrior’s body
that battle
should break on his breast in vain
nor harm his
heart by the hand of a foe.
And the helmet
white that his head protected
was destined to
dare the deeps of the flood,
through
wave-whirl win: ‘twas wound with chains,
decked with
gold, as in days of yore
the weapon-smith
worked it wondrously,
with swine-forms
set it, that swords nowise,
brandished in
battle, could bite that helm.
Nor was that the
meanest of mighty helps
which Hrothgar’s
orator offered at need:
“Hrunting” they
named the hilted sword,
of old-time
heirlooms easily first;
iron was its
edge, all etched with poison,
with
battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight
in hero’s hand
who held it ever,
on paths of
peril prepared to go
to
folkstead of foes. Not first time this
it was destined
to do a daring task.
For he bore not
in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf
sturdy and
strong, that speech he had made,
drunk with wine,
now this weapon he lent
to a stouter
swordsman. Himself, though, durst not
under welter of
waters wager his life
as loyal
liegeman. So lost he his glory,
honor of earls.
With the other not so,
BEOWULF spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“Have mind, thou
honored offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of
men, now I go on this quest,
sovran wise,
what once was said:
if in thy cause
it came that I
should lose my
life, thou wouldst loyal bide
to me, though
fallen, in father’s place!
Be guardian,
thou, to this group of my thanes,
my
warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
and the goodly
gifts thou gavest me,
Hrothgar
beloved, to Hygelac send!
Geatland’s king
may ken by the gold,
Hrethel’s son
see, when he stares at the treasure,
that I got me a
friend for goodness famed,
and joyed while
I could in my jewel-bestower.
And let Unferth
wield this wondrous sword,
earl
far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard of edge:
with Hrunting I
seek doom of
glory, or Death shall take me.”
After these
words the Weder-Geat lord
boldly hastened,
biding never
answer at all:
the ocean floods
closed o’er the
hero. Long while of the day
fled ere he felt
the floor of the sea.
Soon found the
fiend who the flood-domain
sword-hungry
held these hundred winters,
greedy and grim,
that some guest from above,
some man, was
raiding her monster-realm.
She grasped out
for him with grisly claws,
and the warrior
seized; yet scathed she not
his body hale;
the breastplate hindered,
as she strove to
shatter the sark of war,
the linked
harness, with loathsome hand.
Then bore this
brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
the lord of
rings to the lair she haunted
whiles vainly he
strove, though his valor held,
weapon to wield
against wondrous monsters
that sore beset
him; sea-beasts many
tried with
fierce tusks to tear his mail,
and swarmed on
the stranger. But soon he marked
he was now in
some hall, he knew not which,
where water
never could work him harm,
nor through the
roof could reach him ever
fangs of the
flood. Firelight he saw,
beams of a blaze
that brightly shone.
Then the warrior
was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife
monstrous. For mighty stroke
he swung his
blade, and the blow withheld not.
Then sang on her
head that seemly blade
its war-song
wild. But the warrior found
the
light-of-battle was loath to bite,
to harm the
heart: its hard edge failed
the noble at
need, yet had known of old
strife hand to
hand, and had helmets cloven,
doomed men’s
fighting-gear. First time, this,
for the gleaming
blade that its glory fell.
Firm still
stood, nor failed in valor,
heedful of high
deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;
flung away
fretted sword, featly jewelled,
the angry earl;
on earth it lay
steel-edged and
stiff. His strength he trusted,
hand-gripe of
might. So man shall do
whenever in war
he weens to earn him
lasting fame,
nor fears for his life!
Seized then by
shoulder, shrank not from combat,
the Geatish
war-prince Grendel’s mother.
Flung then the
fierce one, filled with wrath,
his deadly foe,
that she fell to ground.
Swift on her
part she paid him back
with grisly
grasp, and grappled with him.
Spent with
struggle, stumbled the warrior,
fiercest of
fighting-men, fell adown.
On the
hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
broad and
brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born
son. — On his shoulder lay
braided
breast-mail, barring death,
withstanding
entrance of edge or blade.
Life would have
ended for Ecgtheow’s son,
under wide earth
for that earl of Geats,
had his armor of
war not aided him,
battle-net hard,
and holy God
wielded the
victory, wisest Maker.
The Lord of
Heaven allowed his cause;
and easily rose
the earl erect.
‘MID the
battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of
Eotens, with edge of proof,
warriors’
heirloom, weapon unmatched,
— save only
‘twas more than other men
to
bandy-of-battle could bear at all —
as the giants
had wrought it, ready and keen.
Seized then its
chain-hilt the Scyldings’ chieftain,
bold and
battle-grim, brandished the sword,
reckless of
life, and so wrathfully smote
that it gripped
her neck and grasped her hard,
her bone-rings
breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one’s
flesh: to floor she sank.
Bloody the
blade: he was blithe of his deed.
Then blazed
forth light. ‘Twas bright within
as when from the
sky there shines unclouded
heaven’s candle.
The hall he scanned.
By the wall then
went he; his weapon raised
high by its
hilts the Hygelac-thane,
angry and eager.
That edge was not useless
to the warrior
now. He wished with speed
Grendel to
guerdon for grim raids many,
for the war he
waged on Western-Danes
oftener far than
an only time,
when of
Hrothgar’s hearth-companions
he slew in
slumber, in sleep devoured,
fifteen men of
the folk of Danes,
and as many
others outward bore,
his horrible
prey. Well paid for that
the wrathful
prince! For now prone he saw
Grendel
stretched there, spent with war,
spoiled of life,
so scathed had left him
Heorot’s battle.
The body sprang far
when after death
it endured the blow,
sword-stroke
savage, that severed its head.
Soon, then, saw the sage companions
who waited with
Hrothgar, watching the flood,
that the tossing
waters turbid grew,
blood-stained
the mere. Old men together,
hoary-haired, of
the hero spake;
the warrior
would not, they weened, again,
proud of
conquest, come to seek
their mighty
master. To many it seemed
the
wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.
The ninth hour
came. The noble Scyldings
left the
headland; homeward went
the gold-friend
of men. But the guests sat on,
stared at the
surges, sick in heart,
and wished, yet
weened not, their winsome lord
again to see.
Now that sword began,
from blood of
the fight, in battle-droppings,
war-blade, to
wane: ‘twas a wondrous thing
that all of it
melted as ice is wont
when frosty
fetters the Father loosens,
unwinds the
wave-bonds, wielding all
seasons and
times: the true God he!
Nor took from
that dwelling the duke of the Geats
precious things,
though a plenty he saw,
save only the
head and that hilt withal
blazoned with
jewels: the blade had melted,
burned was the
bright sword, her blood was so hot,
so poisoned the
hell-sprite who perished within there.
Soon he was
swimming who safe saw in combat
downfall of
demons; up-dove through the flood.
The clashing
waters were cleansed now,
waste of waves,
where the wandering fiend
her life-days
left and this lapsing world.
Swam then to
strand the sailors’-refuge,
sturdy-in-spirit,
of sea-booty glad,
of burden brave
he bore with him.
Went then to
greet him, and God they thanked,
the thane-band
choice of their chieftain blithe,
that safe and
sound they could see him again.
Soon from the
hardy one helmet and armor
deftly they
doffed: now drowsed the mere,
water ‘neath
welkin, with war-blood stained.
Forth they fared
by the footpaths thence,
merry at heart
the highways measured,
well-known
roads. Courageous men
carried the head
from the cliff by the sea,
an arduous task
for all the band,
the firm in
fight, since four were needed
on the shaft-of-slaughter strenuously
to bear to the
gold-hall Grendel’s head.
So presently to
the palace there
foemen fearless,
fourteen Geats,
marching came.
Their master-of-clan
mighty amid them
the meadow-ways trod.
Strode then
within the sovran thane
fearless in
fight, of fame renowned,
hardy hero,
Hrothgar to greet.
And next by the
hair into hall was borne
Grendel’s head,
where the henchmen were drinking,
an awe to clan
and queen alike,
a monster of
marvel: the men looked on.
BEOWULF spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“Lo, now, this
sea-booty, son of Healfdene,
Lord of
Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee,
sign of glory;
thou seest it here.
Not lightly did
I with my life escape!
In war under
water this work I essayed
with endless
effort; and even so
my strength had
been lost had the Lord not shielded me.
Not a whit could
I with Hrunting do
in work of war,
though the weapon is good;
yet a sword the
Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the
wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, —
how oft He guides
the friendless
wight! — and I fought with that brand,
felling in
fight, since fate was with me,
the house’s
wardens. That war-sword then
all burned,
bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,
battle-sweat
hot; but the hilt I brought back
from my foes. So
avenged I their fiendish deeds
death-fall of
Danes, as was due and right.
And this is my
hest, that in Heorot now
safe thou canst
sleep with thy soldier band,
and every thane
of all thy folk
both old and
young; no evil fear,
Scyldings’ lord,
from that side again,
aught ill for
thy earls, as erst thou must!”
Then the golden
hilt, for that gray-haired leader,
hoary hero, in
hand was laid,
giant-wrought,
old. So owned and enjoyed it
after downfall
of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths’
work, since the world was rid
of that
grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked,
and his mother as well.
Now it passed
into power of the people’s king,
best of all that
the oceans bound
who have
scattered their gold o’er Scandia’s isle.
Hrothgar spake —
the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old,
where was etched the rise
of that far-off
fight when the floods o’erwhelmed,
raging waves,
the race of giants
(fearful their
fate!), a folk estranged
from God
Eternal: whence guerdon due
in that waste of
waters the Wielder paid them.
So on the guard
of shining gold
in runic staves
it was rightly said
for whom the
serpent-traced sword was wrought,
best of blades,
in bygone days,
and the hilt
well wound. — The wise-one spake,
son of
Healfdene; silent were all:—
“Lo, so may he
say who sooth and right
follows ‘mid
folk, of far times mindful,
a land-warden
old, that this earl belongs
to the better
breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must
fly, O friend my Beowulf,
far and wide
o’er folksteads many. Firmly thou shalt all maintain,
mighty strength
with mood of wisdom. Love of mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago,
I promised; thou shalt prove a stay in future,
in far-off
years, to folk of thine,
to the heroes a
help. Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of
Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,
nor grew for
their grace, but for grisly slaughter,
for doom of
death to the Danishmen.
He slew,
wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,
companions at
board! So he passed alone,
chieftain
haughty, from human cheer.
Though him the
Maker with might endowed,
delights of
power, and uplifted high
above all men,
yet blood-fierce his mind,
his
breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he
to Danes as was
due; he endured all joyless
strain of
struggle and stress of woe,
long feud with
his folk. Here find thy lesson!
Of virtue advise
thee! This verse I have said for thee,
wise from lapsed
winters. Wondrous seems
how to sons of
men Almighty God
in the strength
of His spirit sendeth wisdom,
estate, high
station: He swayeth all things.
Whiles He
letteth right lustily fare
the heart of the
hero of high-born race, —
in seat
ancestral assigns him bliss,
his folk’s sure
fortress in fee to hold,
puts in his
power great parts of the earth,
empire so ample,
that end of it
this
wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.
So he waxes in
wealth, nowise can harm him
illness or age;
no evil cares
shadow his
spirit; no sword-hate threatens
from ever an
enemy: all the world
wends at his
will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within
him obstinate pride
waxes and wakes
while the warden slumbers,
the spirit’s
sentry; sleep is too fast
which masters
his might, and the murderer nears,
stealthily
shooting the shafts from his bow!
“UNDER harness
his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest
shafts; and no shelter avails
from foul behest
of the hellish fiend.
Him seems too
little what long he possessed.
Greedy and grim,
no golden rings
he gives for his
pride; the promised future
forgets he and
spurns, with all God has sent him,
Wonder-Wielder,
of wealth and fame.
Yet in the end
it ever comes
that the frame
of the body fragile yields,
fated falls; and
there follows another
who joyously the
jewels divides,
the royal
riches, nor recks of his forebear.
Ban, then, such
baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
best of men, and
the better part choose,
profit eternal;
and temper thy pride,
warrior famous!
The flower of thy might
lasts now a
while: but erelong it shall be
that sickness or
sword thy strength shall minish,
or fang of fire,
or flooding billow,
or bite of
blade, or brandished spear,
or odious age;
or the eyes’ clear beam
wax dull and
darken: Death even thee
in haste shall
o’erwhelm, thou hero of war!
So the
Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,
wielded ‘neath
welkin, and warded them bravely
from mighty-ones
many o’er middle-earth,
from spear and
sword, till it seemed for me
no foe could be
found under fold of the sky.
Lo, sudden the
shift! To me seated secure
came grief for
joy when Grendel began
to harry my
home, the hellish foe;
for those ruthless
raids, unresting I suffered
heart-sorrow
heavy. Heaven be thanked,
Lord Eternal,
for life extended
that I on this
head all hewn and bloody,
after long evil,
with eyes may gaze!
— Go to the
bench now! Be glad at banquet,
warrior worthy!
A wealth of treasure
at dawn of day,
be dealt between us!”
Glad was the
Geats’ lord, going betimes
to seek his
seat, as the Sage commanded.
Afresh, as
before, for the famed-in-battle,
for the band of
the hall, was a banquet dight
nobly anew. The
Night-Helm darkened
dusk o’er the
drinkers. The doughty ones rose:
for the
hoary-headed would hasten to rest,
aged Scylding;
and eager the Geat,
shield-fighter
sturdy, for sleeping yearned.
Him
wander-weary, warrior-guest
from far, a
hall-thane heralded forth,
who by custom
courtly cared for all
needs of a thane
as in those old days
So slumbered the
stout-heart. Stately the hall
rose gabled and
gilt where the guest slept on
till a raven
black the rapture-of-heaven
blithe-heart
boded. Bright came flying
shine after
shadow. The swordsmen hastened,
athelings all
were eager homeward
forth to fare;
and far from thence
the
great-hearted guest would guide his keel.
Bade then the
hardy-one Hrunting be brought
to the son of Ecglaf,
the sword bade him take,
excellent iron,
and uttered his thanks for it,
quoth that he
counted it keen in battle,
“war-friend”
winsome: with words he slandered not
edge of the
blade: ‘twas a big-hearted man!
Now eager for
parting and armed at point
warriors waited,
while went to his host
that Darling of
Danes. The doughty atheling
to high-seat
hastened and Hrothgar greeted.
BEOWULF spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“Lo, we
seafarers say our will,
far-come men,
that we fain would seek
Hygelac now. We
here have found
hosts to our
heart: thou hast harbored us well.
If ever on earth
I am able to win me
more of thy
love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than
I now have done,
for work of war
I am willing still!
If it come to me
ever across the seas
that neighbor
foemen annoy and fright thee, —
as they that
hate thee erewhile have used, —
thousands then
of thanes I shall bring,
heroes to help
thee. Of Hygelac I know,
ward of his
folk, that, though few his years,
the lord of the
Geats will give me aid
by word and by
work, that well I may serve thee,
wielding the
war-wood to win thy triumph
and lending thee
might when thou lackest men.
If thy Hrethric
should come to court of Geats,
a sovran’s son,
he will surely there
find his
friends. A far-off land
each man should
visit who vaunts him brave.”
Him then
answering, Hrothgar spake:—
“These words of
thine the wisest God
sent to thy
soul! No sager counsel
from so young in
years e’er yet have I heard.
Thou art strong
of main and in mind art wary,
art wise in words!
I ween indeed
if ever it hap
that Hrethel’s heir
by spear be
seized, by sword-grim battle,
by illness or
iron, thine elder and lord,
people’s leader,
— and life be thine, —
no seemlier man
will the Sea-Geats find
at all to choose
for their chief and king,
for hoard-guard
of heroes, if hold thou wilt
thy kinsman’s
kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me
the longer the
better, Beowulf loved!
Thou hast
brought it about that both our peoples,
sons of the Geat
and Spear-Dane folk,
shall have
mutual peace, and from murderous strife,
such as once
they waged, from war refrain.
Long as I rule
this realm so wide,
let our hoards
be common, let heroes with gold
each other greet
o’er the gannet’s-bath,
and the
ringed-prow bear o’er rolling waves
tokens of love.
I trow my landfolk
towards friend
and foe are firmly joined,
and honor they
keep in the olden way.”
To him in the
hall, then, Healfdene’s son
gave treasures
twelve, and the trust-of-earls
bade him fare
with the gifts to his folk beloved,
hale to his
home, and in haste return.
Then kissed the
king of kin renowned,
Scyldings’
chieftain, that choicest thane,
and fell on his
neck. Fast flowed the tears
of the
hoary-headed. Heavy with winters,
he had chances
twain, but he clung to this, —
that each should
look on the other again,
and hear him in
hall. Was this hero so dear to him.
his breast’s
wild billows he banned in vain;
safe in his soul
a secret longing,
locked in his
mind, for that loved man
burned in his
blood. Then Beowulf strode,
glad of his
gold-gifts, the grass-plot o’er,
warrior blithe.
The wave-roamer bode
riding at
anchor, its owner awaiting.
As they hastened
onward, Hrothgar’s gift
they lauded at
length. — ‘Twas a lord unpeered,
every way
blameless, till age had broken
it spareth no
mortal — his splendid might.
CAME now to
ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen,
their harness bearing,
woven war-sarks.
The warden marked,
trusty as ever,
the earl’s return.
From the height
of the hill no hostile words
reached the
guests as he rode to greet them;
but “Welcome!”
he called to that Weder clan
as the
sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on.
Then on the
strand, with steeds and treasure
and armor their
roomy and ring-dight ship
was heavily
laden: high its mast
rose over
Hrothgar’s hoarded gems.
A sword to the
boat-guard Beowulf gave,
mounted with
gold; on the mead-bench since
he was better
esteemed, that blade possessing,
heirloom old. —
Their ocean-keel boarding,
they drove
through the deep, and Daneland left.
A sea-cloth was
set, a sail with ropes,
firm to the
mast; the flood-timbers moaned;
nor did wind
over billows that wave-swimmer blow
across from her
course. The craft sped on,
foam-necked it
floated forth o’er the waves,
keel firm-bound
over briny currents,
till they got
them sight of the Geatish cliffs,
home-known
headlands. High the boat,
stirred by
winds, on the strand updrove.
Helpful at haven
the harbor-guard stood,
who long already
for loved companions
by the water had
waited and watched afar.
He bound to the
beach the broad-bosomed ship
with
anchor-bands, lest ocean-billows
that trusty
timber should tear away.
Then Beowulf
bade them bear the treasure,
gold and jewels;
no journey far
was it thence to
go to the giver of rings,
Hygelac
Hrethling: at home he dwelt
by the sea-wall
close, himself and clan.
Haughty that
house, a hero the king,
high the hall,
and Hygd right young,
wise and wary,
though winters few
in those
fortress walls she had found a home,
Haereth’s
daughter. Nor humble her ways,
nor grudged she
gifts to the Geatish men,
of precious
treasure. Not Thryth’s pride showed she,
folk-queen
famed, or that fell deceit.
Was none so
daring that durst make bold
(save her lord
alone) of the liegemen dear
that lady full
in the face to look,
but forged
fetters he found his lot,
bonds of death!
And brief the respite;
soon as they
seized him, his sword-doom was spoken,
and the
burnished blade a baleful murder
proclaimed and
closed. No queenly way
for woman to
practise, though peerless she,
that the weaver-of-peace from warrior dear
by wrath and
lying his life should reave!
But Hemming’s
kinsman hindered this. —
For over their
ale men also told
that of these
folk-horrors fewer she wrought,
onslaughts of
evil, after she went,
gold-decked
bride, to the brave young prince,
atheling
haughty, and Offa’s hall
o’er the fallow
flood at her father’s bidding
safely sought,
where since she prospered,
royal, throned,
rich in goods,
fain of the fair
life fate had sent her,
and leal in love
to the lord of warriors.
He, of all
heroes I heard of ever
from sea to sea,
of the sons of earth,
most excellent
seemed. Hence Offa was praised
for his fighting
and feeing by far-off men,
the spear-bold
warrior; wisely he ruled
over his empire.
Eomer woke to him,
help of heroes,
Hemming’s kinsman,
Grandson of
Garmund, grim in war.
HASTENED the
hardy one, henchmen with him,
sandy strand of
the sea to tread
and widespread
ways. The world’s great candle,
sun shone from
south. They strode along
with sturdy steps
to the spot they knew
where the
battle-king young, his burg within,
slayer of
Ongentheow, shared the rings,
shelter-of-heroes.
To Hygelac
Beowulf’s coming
was quickly told, —
that there in
the court the clansmen’s refuge,
the
shield-companion sound and alive,
hale from the
hero-play homeward strode.
With haste in
the hall, by highest order,
room for the
rovers was readily made.
By his sovran he
sat, come safe from battle,
kinsman by
kinsman. His kindly lord
he first had
greeted in gracious form,
with manly
words. The mead dispensing,
came through the
high hall Haereth’s daughter,
winsome to
warriors, wine-cup bore
to the hands of
the heroes. Hygelac then
his comrade
fairly with question plied
in the lofty
hall, sore longing to know
what manner of sojourn
the Sea-Geats made.
“What came of
thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf,
when thy
yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder
battle to seek
o’er the briny sea,
combat in
Heorot? Hrothgar couldst thou
aid at all, the
honored chief,
in his
wide-known woes? With waves of care
my sad heart
seethed; I sore mistrusted
my loved one’s
venture: long I begged thee
by no means to
seek that slaughtering monster,
but suffer the
South-Danes to settle their feud
themselves with
Grendel. Now God be thanked
that safe and
sound I can see thee now!”
Beowulf spake,
the bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“‘Tis known and
unhidden, Hygelac Lord,
to many men,
that meeting of ours,
struggle grim
between Grendel and me,
which we fought
on the field where full too many
sorrows he
wrought for the Scylding-Victors,
evils unending.
These all I avenged.
No boast can be
from breed of Grendel,
any on earth,
for that uproar at dawn,
from the
longest-lived of the loathsome race
in fleshly fold!
— But first I went
Hrothgar to greet
in the hall of gifts,
where
Healfdene’s kinsman high-renowned,
soon as my
purpose was plain to him,
assigned me a
seat by his son and heir.
The liegemen
were lusty; my life-days never
such merry men
over mead in hall
have I heard
under heaven! The high-born queen,
people’s
peace-bringer, passed through the hall,
cheered the
young clansmen, clasps of gold,
ere she sought
her seat, to sundry gave.
Oft to the
heroes Hrothgar’s daughter,
to earls in
turn, the ale-cup tendered, —
she whom I heard
these hall-companions
Freawaru name,
when fretted gold
she proffered
the warriors. Promised is she,
gold-decked
maid, to the glad son of Froda.
Sage this seems
to the Scylding’s-friend,
kingdom’s-keeper:
he counts it wise
the woman to wed
so and ward off feud,
store of
slaughter. But seldom ever
when men are
slain, does the murder-spear sink
but briefest
while, though the bride be fair!
“Nor haply will
like it the Heathobard lord,
and as little
each of his liegemen all,
when a thane of
the Danes, in that doughty throng,
goes with the
lady along their hall,
and on him the
old-time heirlooms glisten
hard and
ring-decked, Heathobard’s treasure,
weapons that
once they wielded fair
until they lost
at the linden-play
liegeman leal
and their lives as well.
Then, over the
ale, on this heirloom gazing,
some ash-wielder
old who has all in mind
that spear-death
of men, — he is stern of mood,
heavy at heart,
— in the hero young
tests the temper
and tries the soul
and war-hate wakens,
with words like these:—
Canst thou not,
comrade, ken that sword
which to the
fray thy father carried
in his final
feud, ‘neath the fighting-mask,
dearest of
blades, when the Danish slew him
and wielded the
war-place on Withergild’s fall,
after havoc of
heroes, those hardy Scyldings?
Now, the son of
a certain slaughtering Dane,
proud of his
treasure, paces this hall,
joys in the
killing, and carries the jewel
that rightfully
ought to be owned by thee!
Thus he urges
and eggs him all the time
with keenest
words, till occasion offers
that Freawaru’s
thane, for his father’s deed,
after bite of
brand in his blood must slumber,
losing his life;
but that liegeman flies
living away, for
the land he kens.
And thus be
broken on both their sides
oaths of the
earls, when Ingeld’s breast
wells with
war-hate, and wife-love now
after the
care-billows cooler grows.
“So I hold not high the Heathobards’ faith
due to the
Danes, or their during love
and pact of
peace. — But I pass from that,
turning to Grendel,
O giver-of-treasure,
and saying in
full how the fight resulted,
hand-fray of
heroes. When heaven’s jewel
had fled o’er
far fields, that fierce sprite came,
night-foe
savage, to seek us out
where safe and
sound we sentried the hall.
To Hondscio then
was that harassing deadly,
his fall there
was fated. He first was slain,
girded warrior.
Grendel on him
turned murderous
mouth, on our mighty kinsman,
and all of the
brave man’s body devoured.
Yet none the
earlier, empty-handed,
would the
bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale,
outward go from
the gold-decked hall:
but me he
attacked in his terror of might,
with greedy hand
grasped me. A glove hung by him
wide and
wondrous, wound with bands;
and in artful
wise it all was wrought,
by devilish
craft, of dragon-skins.
Me therein, an
innocent man,
the fiendish foe
was fain to thrust
with many
another. He might not so,
when I all
angrily upright stood.
‘Twere long to
relate how that land-destroyer
I paid in kind
for his cruel deeds;
yet there, my
prince, this people of thine
got fame by my
fighting. He fled away,
and a little
space his life preserved;
but there staid
behind him his stronger hand
left in Heorot;
heartsick thence
on the floor of
the ocean that outcast fell.
Me for this struggle
the Scyldings’-friend
paid in plenty
with plates of gold,
with many a
treasure, when morn had come
and we all at
the banquet-board sat down.
Then was song
and glee. The gray-haired Scylding,
much tested,
told of the times of yore.
Whiles the hero his
harp bestirred,
wood-of-delight;
now lays he chanted
of sooth and
sadness, or said aright
legends of
wonder, the wide-hearted king;
or for years of
his youth he would yearn at times,
for strength of
old struggles, now stricken with age,
hoary hero: his
heart surged full
when, wise with
winters, he wailed their flight.
Thus in the hall
the whole of that day
at ease we
feasted, till fell o’er earth
another night.
Anon full ready
in greed of
vengeance, Grendel’s mother
set forth all
doleful. Dead was her son
through war-hate
of Weders; now, woman monstrous
with fury fell a
foeman she slew,
avenged her
offspring. From Aeschere old,
loyal
councillor, life was gone;
nor might they
e’en, when morning broke,
those Danish
people, their death-done comrade
burn with
brands, on balefire lay
the man they
mourned. Under mountain stream
she had carried
the corpse with cruel hands.
For Hrothgar
that was the heaviest sorrow
of all that had
laden the lord of his folk.
The leader then,
by thy life, besought me
(sad was his
soul) in the sea-waves’ coil
to play the hero
and hazard my being
for glory of
prowess: my guerdon he pledged.
I then in the
waters — ‘tis widely known —
that
sea-floor-guardian savage found.
Hand-to-hand
there a while we struggled;
billows welled
blood; in the briny hall
her head I hewed
with a hardy blade
from Grendel’s
mother, — and gained my life,
though not
without danger. My doom was not yet.
Then the
haven-of-heroes, Healfdene’s son,
gave me in
guerdon great gifts of price.
“So held this
king to the customs old,
that I wanted
for nought in the wage I gained,
the meed of my
might; he made me gifts,
Healfdene’s
heir, for my own disposal.
Now to thee, my
prince, I proffer them all,
gladly give
them. Thy grace alone
can find me
favor. Few indeed
have I of
kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!”
Then he bade
them bear him the boar-head standard,
the battle-helm
high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid
sword; then spake in form:—
“Me this
war-gear the wise old prince,
Hrothgar, gave,
and his hest he added,
that its story
be straightway said to thee. —
A while it was
held by Heorogar king,
for long time
lord of the land of Scyldings;
yet not to his
son the sovran left it,
to daring
Heoroweard, — dear as he was to him,
his harness of
battle. — Well hold thou it all!”
And I heard that
soon passed o’er the path of this treasure,
all
apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each like the
others, arms and horses
he gave to the
king. So should kinsmen be,
not weave one
another the net of wiles,
or with deep-hid
treachery death contrive
for neighbor and
comrade. His nephew was ever
by hardy Hygelac
held full dear,
and each kept
watch o’er the other’s weal.
I heard, too,
the necklace to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought
treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him
sovran’s
daughter: three steeds he added,
slender and
saddle-gay. Since such gift
the gem gleamed
bright on the breast of the queen.
Thus showed his
strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man
remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of
honor. At ale he slew not
comrade or kin;
nor cruel his mood,
though of sons
of earth his strength was greatest,
a glorious gift
that God had sent
the splendid
leader. Long was he spurned,
and worthless by
Geatish warriors held;
him at mead the
master-of-clans
failed full oft
to favor at all.
Slack and
shiftless the strong men deemed him,
profitless
prince; but payment came,
to the warrior
honored, for all his woes. —
Then the
bulwark-of-earls bade bring within,
hardy chieftain,
Hrethel’s heirloom
garnished with
gold: no Geat e’er knew
in shape of a
sword a statelier prize.
The brand he
laid in Beowulf’s lap;
and of hides
assigned him seven thousand,
with house and
high-seat. They held in common
land alike by
their line of birth,
inheritance,
home: but higher the king
because of his
rule o’er the realm itself.
with harryings
horrid, that Hygelac perished,
and Heardred,
too, by hewing of swords
under the
shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the
van of his victor-folk
sought hardy
heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in arms
o’erwhelming Hereric’s nephew.
Then Beowulf
came as king this broad
realm to wield;
and he ruled it well
fifty
winters, a wise old prince,
warding his
land, until One began
in the dark of
night, a Dragon, to rage.
In the grave on
the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the
stone-barrow steep. A strait path reached it,
unknown to
mortals. Some man, however,
came by chance
that cave within
to the heathen
hoard. In hand he took
a golden goblet,
nor gave he it back,
stole with it
away, while the watcher slept,
by thievish
wiles: for the warden’s wrath
prince and
people must pay betimes!
THAT way he went
with no will of his own,
in danger of
life, to the dragon’s hoard,
but for pressure
of peril, some prince’s thane.
He fled in fear
the fatal scourge,
seeking shelter,
a sinful man,
and entered in.
At the awful sight
tottered that
guest, and terror seized him;
yet the wretched
fugitive rallied anon
from fright and
fear ere he fled away,
and took the cup
from that treasure-hoard.
Of such besides
there was store enough,
heirlooms old,
the earth below,
which some earl
forgotten, in ancient years,
left the last of
his lofty race,
heedfully there
had hidden away,
dearest
treasure. For death of yore
had hurried all
hence; and he alone
left to live,
the last of the clan,
weeping his
friends, yet wished to bide
warding the
treasure, his one delight,
though brief his
respite. The barrow, new-ready,
to strand and
sea-waves stood anear,
hard by the
headland, hidden and closed;
there laid
within it his lordly heirlooms
and heaped hoard
of heavy gold
that warden of
rings. Few words he spake:
“Now hold thou,
earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have
owned! Lo, erst from thee
brave men
brought it! But battle-death seized
and cruel
killing my clansmen all,
robbed them of
life and a liegeman’s joys.
None have I left
to lift the sword,
or to cleanse
the carven cup of price,
beaker bright.
My brave are gone.
And the helmet
hard, all haughty with gold,
shall part from
its plating. Polishers sleep
who could
brighten and burnish the battle-mask;
and those weeds
of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of
shields the bite of steel
rust with their
bearer. The ringed mail
fares not far
with famous chieftain,
at side of hero!
No harp’s delight,
no glee-wood’s
gladness! No good hawk now
flies through
the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the
burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my
race have reft away.”
Mournful of
mood, thus he moaned his woe,
alone, for them
all, and unblithe wept
by day and by
night, till death’s fell wave
o’erwhelmed his
heart. His hoard-of-bliss
that old
ill-doer open found,
who, blazing at
twilight the barrows haunteth,
naked foe-dragon
flying by night
folded in fire:
the folk of earth
dread him sore.
‘Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the
graves, and heathen gold
to watch,
many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!
Powerful this
plague-of-the-people thus
held the house
of the hoard in earth
three hundred
winters; till One aroused
wrath in his
breast, to the ruler bearing
that costly cup,
and the king implored
for bond of
peace. So the barrow was plundered,
borne off was
booty. His boon was granted
that wretched
man; and his ruler saw
first time what
was fashioned in far-off days.
When the dragon
awoke, new woe was kindled.
O’er the stone
he snuffed. The stark-heart found
footprint of foe
who so far had gone
in his hidden
craft by the creature’s head. —
So may the
undoomed easily flee
evils and exile,
if only he gain
the grace of The
Wielder! — That warden of gold
o’er the ground
went seeking, greedy to find
the man who
wrought him such wrong in sleep.
Savage and
burning, the barrow he circled
all without; nor
was any there,
none in the
waste.... Yet war he desired,
was eager for
battle. The barrow he entered,
sought the cup,
and discovered soon
that some one of
mortals had searched his treasure,
his lordly gold.
The guardian waited
ill-enduring
till evening came;
boiling with
wrath was the barrow’s keeper,
and fain with
flame the foe to pay
for the dear
cup’s loss. — Now day was fled
as the worm had
wished. By its wall no more
was it glad to
bide, but burning flew
folded in flame:
a fearful beginning
for sons of the
soil; and soon it came,
in the doom of
their lord, to a dreadful end.
THEN the baleful
fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes
burned. The blaze stood high
all landsfolk
frighting. No living thing
would that
loathly one leave as aloft it flew.
Wide was the
dragon’s warring seen,
its fiendish
fury far and near,
as the grim
destroyer those Geatish people
hated and
hounded. To hidden lair,
to its hoard it
hastened at hint of dawn.
Folk of the land
it had lapped in flame,
with bale and
brand. In its barrow it trusted,
its battling and
bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then
the bale was told
quickly and
truly: the king’s own home,
of buildings the
best, in brand-waves melted,
that gift-throne
of Geats. To the good old man
sad in heart,
‘twas heaviest sorrow.
The sage assumed
that his sovran God
he had angered,
breaking ancient law,
and embittered
the Lord. His breast within
with black
thoughts welled, as his wont was never.
The folk’s own
fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had
destroyed, and the stronghold all
washed by waves;
but the warlike king,
prince of the
Weders, plotted vengeance.
Warriors’-bulwark,
he bade them work
all of iron —
the earl’s commander —
a war-shield
wondrous: well he knew
that forest-wood
against fire were worthless,
linden could aid
not. — Atheling brave,
he was fated to
finish this fleeting life,
his days on
earth, and the dragon with him,
though long it
had watched o’er the wealth of the hoard! —
Shame he
reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the
flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung
band; nor the battle feared he,
nor deemed he
dreadful the dragon’s warring,
its vigor and
valor: ventures desperate
he had passed
a-plenty, and perils of war,
contest-crash,
since, conqueror proud,
Hrothgar’s hall
he had wholly purged,
and in grapple
had killed the kin of Grendel,
loathsome breed!
Not least was that
of hand-to-hand
fights where Hygelac fell,
when the ruler
of Geats in rush of battle,
lord of his
folk, in the Frisian land,
son of Hrethel,
by sword-draughts died,
by brands
down-beaten. Thence Beowulf fled
through strength
of himself and his swimming power,
though alone,
and his arms were laden with thirty
coats of mail,
when he came to the sea!
Nor yet might
Hetwaras haughtily boast
their craft of
contest, who carried against him
shields to the
fight: but few escaped
from strife with
the hero to seek their homes!
Then swam over
ocean Ecgtheow’s son
lonely and
sorrowful, seeking his land,
where Hygd made
him offer of hoard and realm,
rings and
royal-seat, reckoning naught
the strength of
her son to save their kingdom
from hostile
hordes, after Hygelac’s death.
No sooner for
this could the stricken ones
in any wise move
that atheling’s mind
over young
Heardred’s head as lord
and ruler of all
the realm to be:
yet the hero
upheld him with helpful words,
aided in honor,
till, older grown,
he wielded the
Weder-Geats. — Wandering exiles
sought him o’er
seas, the sons of Ohtere,
who had spurned
the sway of the Scylfings’-helmet,
the bravest and
best that broke the rings,
in Swedish land,
of the sea-kings’ line,
haughty
hero. Hence Heardred’s end.
For shelter he
gave them, sword-death came,
the blade’s fell
blow, to bairn of Hygelac;
but the son of
Ongentheow sought again
house and home
when Heardred fell,
leaving Beowulf
lord of Geats
and gift-seat’s
master. — A good king he!
THE fall of his
lord he was fain to requite
in after days;
and to Eadgils he proved
friend to the
friendless, and forces sent
over the sea to
the son of Ohtere,
weapons and
warriors: well repaid he
those care-paths
cold when the king he slew.
Thus safe
through struggles the son of Ecgtheow
had passed a
plenty, through perils dire,
with daring
deeds, till this day was come
that doomed him
now with the dragon to strive.
With comrades
eleven the lord of Geats
swollen in rage
went seeking the dragon.
He had heard
whence all the harm arose
and the killing
of clansmen; that cup of price
on the lap of
the lord had been laid by the finder.
In the throng
was this one thirteenth man,
starter of all
the strife and ill,
care-laden
captive; cringing thence
forced and
reluctant, he led them on
till he came in
ken of that cavern-hall,
the barrow
delved near billowy surges,
flood of ocean.
Within ‘twas full
of wire-gold and
jewels; a jealous warden,
warrior trusty,
the treasures held,
lurked in his
lair. Not light the task
of entrance for
any of earth-born men!
Sat on the
headland the hero king,
spake words of
hail to his hearth-companions,
gold-friend of
Geats. All gloomy his soul,
wavering,
death-bound. Wyrd full nigh
stood ready to
greet the gray-haired man,
to seize his
soul-hoard, sunder apart
life and body.
Not long would be
the warrior’s
spirit enwound with flesh.
Beowulf spake,
the bairn of Ecgtheow:—
“Through store
of struggles I strove in youth,
mighty feuds; I
mind them all.
I was seven
years old when the sovran of rings,
friend-of-his-folk,
from my father took me,
had me, and held
me, Hrethel the king,
with food and
fee, faithful in kinship.
Ne’er, while I
lived there, he loathlier found me,
bairn in the
burg, than his birthright sons,
Herebeald and
Haethcyn and Hygelac mine.
For the eldest
of these, by unmeet chance,
by kinsman’s
deed, was the death-bed strewn,
when Haethcyn
killed him with horny bow,
his own dear
liege laid low with an arrow,
missed the mark
and his mate shot down,
one brother the
other, with bloody shaft.
A feeless
fight, and a fearful sin,
horror to
Hrethel; yet, hard as it was,
unavenged must
the atheling die!
Too awful it is
for an aged man
to bide and
bear, that his bairn so young
rides on the
gallows. A rime he makes,
sorrow-song for
his son there hanging
as rapture of
ravens; no rescue now
can come from
the old, disabled man!
Still is he
minded, as morning breaks,
of the heir gone
elsewhere; another he hopes not
he will bide to
see his burg within
as ward for his
wealth, now the one has found
doom of death
that the deed incurred.
Forlorn he looks
on the lodge of his son,
wine-hall waste
and wind-swept chambers
reft of revel. The
rider sleepeth,
the hero,
far-hidden; no harp resounds,
in the courts no
wassail, as once was heard.
“THEN he goes to
his chamber, a grief-song chants
alone for his
lost. Too large all seems,
homestead and
house. So the helmet-of-Weders
hid in his heart
for Herebeald
waves of woe. No
way could he take
to avenge on the
slayer slaughter so foul;
nor e’en could
he harass that hero at all
with loathing
deed, though he loved him not.
And so for the
sorrow his soul endured,
men’s gladness
he gave up and God’s light chose.
Lands and cities
he left his sons
(as the wealthy
do) when he went from earth.
There was strife
and struggle ‘twixt Swede and Geat
o’er the width
of waters; war arose,
hard
battle-horror, when Hrethel died,
and Ongentheow’s
offspring grew
strife-keen,
bold, nor brooked o’er the seas
pact of peace,
but pushed their hosts
to harass in
hatred by Hreosnabeorh.
Men of my folk
for that feud had vengeance,
for woful war
(‘tis widely known),
though one of
them bought it with blood of his heart,
a bargain hard:
for Haethcyn proved
fatal that fray,
for the first-of-Geats.
At morn, I
heard, was the murderer killed
by kinsman for
kinsman, with clash of sword,
when Ongentheow
met Eofor there.
Wide split the
war-helm: wan he fell,
hoary Scylfing;
the hand that smote him
of feud was
mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.
— “For all that
he gave me, my gleaming sword
repaid him at
war, — such power I wielded, —
for lordly
treasure: with land he entrusted me,
homestead and
house. He had no need
from Swedish
realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,
or from men of
the Gifths, to get him help, —
some warrior
worse for wage to buy!
Ever I fought in
the front of all,
sole to the
fore; and so shall I fight
while I bide in
life and this blade shall last
that early and
late hath loyal proved
since for my
doughtiness Daeghrefn fell,
slain by my
hand, the Hugas’ champion.
Nor fared he
thence to the Frisian king
with the booty
back, and breast-adornments;
but, slain in
struggle, that standard-bearer
fell, atheling
brave. Not with blade was he slain,
but his bones
were broken by brawny gripe,
his heart-waves
stilled. — The sword-edge now,
hard blade and
my hand, for the hoard shall strive.”
his last of all:
“I have lived through many
wars in my
youth; now once again,
old
folk-defender, feud will I seek,
do doughty
deeds, if the dark destroyer
forth from his
cavern come to fight me!”
Then hailed he
the helmeted heroes all,
for the last
time greeting his liegemen dear,
comrades of war:
“I should carry no weapon,
no sword to the
serpent, if sure I knew
how, with such
enemy, else my vows
I could gain as
I did in Grendel’s day.
But fire in this
fight I must fear me now,
and poisonous breath;
so I bring with me
breastplate and
board. From the barrow’s keeper
no footbreadth
flee I. One fight shall end
our war by the
wall, as Wyrd allots,
all mankind’s
master. My mood is bold
but forbears to
boast o’er this battling-flyer.
— Now abide by
the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed,
ye heroes in
harness, which of us twain
better from
battle-rush bear his wounds.
Wait ye the
finish. The fight is not yours,
nor meet for any
but me alone
to measure might
with this monster here
and play the
hero. Hardily I
shall win that
wealth, or war shall seize,
cruel killing,
your king and lord!”
Up stood then
with shield the sturdy champion,
stayed by the
strength of his single manhood,
and hardy ‘neath
helmet his harness bore
under cleft of
the cliffs: no coward’s path!
Soon spied by
the wall that warrior chief,
survivor of many
a victory-field
where foemen
fought with furious clashings,
an arch of
stone; and within, a stream
that broke from
the barrow. The brooklet’s wave
was hot with
fire. The hoard that way
he never could
hope unharmed to near,
or endure those
deeps, for the dragon’s flame.
Then let from
his breast, for he burst with rage,
the Weder-Geat
prince a word outgo;
stormed the
stark-heart; stern went ringing
and clear his
cry ‘neath the cliff-rocks gray.
The hoard-guard
heard a human voice;
his rage was
enkindled. No respite now
for pact of
peace! The poison-breath
of that foul
worm first came forth from the cave,
hot
reek-of-fight: the rocks resounded.
Stout by the
stone-way his shield he raised,
lord of the
Geats, against the loathed-one;
while with
courage keen that coiled foe
came seeking
strife. The sturdy king
had drawn his
sword, not dull of edge,
heirloom old;
and each of the two
felt fear of his
foe, though fierce their mood.
Stoutly stood
with his shield high-raised
the warrior
king, as the worm now coiled
together amain:
the mailed-one waited.
Now, spire by
spire, fast sped and glided
that blazing
serpent. The shield protected,
soul and body a
shorter while
for the
hero-king than his heart desired,
could his will
have wielded the welcome respite
but once in his
life! But Wyrd denied it,
and victory’s
honors. — His arm he lifted
lord of the
Geats, the grim foe smote
with atheling’s
heirloom. Its edge was turned
brown blade, on
the bone, and bit more feebly
than its noble
master had need of then
in his baleful
stress. — Then the barrow’s keeper
waxed full wild
for that weighty blow,
cast deadly
flames; wide drove and far
those vicious
fires. No victor’s glory
the Geats’ lord
boasted; his brand had failed,
naked in battle,
as never it should,
excellent iron!
— ‘Twas no easy path
that Ecgtheow’s
honored heir must tread
over the plain
to the place of the foe;
for against his will
he must win a home
elsewhere far,
as must all men, leaving
this lapsing
life! — Not long it was
ere those
champions grimly closed again.
The hoard-guard
was heartened; high heaved his breast
once more; and
by peril was pressed again,
enfolded in
flames, the folk-commander!
Nor yet about
him his band of comrades,
sons of
athelings, armed stood
with warlike
front: to the woods they bent them,
their lives to
save. But the soul of one
with care was
cumbered. Kinship true
can never be
marred in a noble mind!
WIGLAF his name
was, Weohstan’s son,
linden-thane
loved, the lord of Scylfings,
Aelfhere’s
kinsman. His king he now saw
with heat under
helmet hard oppressed.
He minded the
prizes his prince had given him,
wealthy seat of
the Waegmunding line,
and folk-rights
that his father owned
Not long he
lingered. The linden yellow,
his shield, he
seized; the old sword he drew: —
as heirloom of
Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,
who was slain by
the sword-edge, son of Ohtere,
friendless
exile, erst in fray
killed by
Weohstan, who won for his kin
brown-bright
helmet, breastplate ringed,
old sword of
Eotens, Onela’s gift,
weeds of war of
the warrior-thane,
battle-gear
brave: though a brother’s child
had been felled,
the feud was unfelt by Onela.
For winters this
war-gear Weohstan kept,
breastplate and
board, till his bairn had grown
earlship to earn
as the old sire did:
then he gave
him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,
portion huge,
when he passed from life,
fared aged
forth. For the first time now
with his leader-lord
the liegeman young
was bidden to
share the shock of battle.
Neither softened
his soul, nor the sire’s bequest
weakened in
war. So the worm found out
when once in
fight the foes had met!
Wiglaf spake, —
and his words were sage;
sad in spirit, he
said to his comrades:—
“I remember the
time, when mead we took,
what promise we
made to this prince of ours
in the
banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,
for gear of
combat to give him requital,
for hard-sword
and helmet, if hap should bring
stress of this
sort! Himself who chose us
from all his
army to aid him now,
urged us to
glory, and gave these treasures,
because he
counted us keen with the spear
and hardy ‘neath
helm, though this hero-work
our leader hoped
unhelped and alone
to finish for
us, — folk-defender
who hath got him
glory greater than all men
for daring
deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble
master has need of the might
of warriors
stout. Let us stride along
the hero to help
while the heat is about him
glowing and grim!
For God is my witness
I am far more
fain the fire should seize
along with my
lord these limbs of mine!
Unsuiting it
seems our shields to bear
homeward hence,
save here we essay
to fell the foe
and defend the life
of the Weders’
lord. I wot ‘twere shame
on the law of
our land if alone the king
out of Geatish
warriors woe endured
and sank in the
struggle! My sword and helmet,
breastplate and
board, for us both shall serve!”
Through
slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle-helm
bore, and brief words spake:—
“Beowulf
dearest, do all bravely,
as in youthful
days of yore thou vowedst
that while life
should last thou wouldst let no wise
thy glory droop!
Now, great in deeds,
atheling
steadfast, with all thy strength
shield thy life!
I will stand to help thee.”
At the words the
worm came once again,
murderous
monster mad with rage,
with
fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek,
the hated men.
In heat-waves burned
that board to the boss, and the breastplate failed
to shelter at
all the spear-thane young.
Yet quickly
under his kinsman’s shield
went eager the
earl, since his own was now
all burned by
the blaze. The bold king again
had mind of his
glory: with might his glaive
was driven into
the dragon’s head, —
blow nerved by
hate. But Naegling was shivered,
broken in battle
was Beowulf’s sword,
old and gray.
‘Twas granted him not
that ever the
edge of iron at all
could help him
at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is
told, and he tried too far
with strength of
stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy
their steel: they steaded him nought.
Then for the
third time thought on its feud
that
folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,
and rushed on
the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim,
burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his
neck, and covered him
with waves of
blood from his breast that welled.
‘TWAS now, men
say, in his sovran’s need
that the earl
made known his noble strain,
craft and
keenness and courage enduring.
Heedless of
harm, though his hand was burned,
hardy-hearted,
he helped his kinsman.
A little lower
the loathsome beast
he smote with
sword; his steel drove in
bright and
burnished; that blaze began
to lose and
lessen. At last the king
wielded his wits
again, war-knife drew,
a biting blade
by his breastplate hanging,
and the
Weders’-helm smote that worm asunder,
felled the foe,
flung forth its life.
So had they
killed it, kinsmen both,
athelings twain:
thus an earl should be
in danger’s day!
— Of deeds of valor
this
conqueror’s-hour of the king was last,
of his work in
the world. The wound began,
which that
dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,
to swell and
smart; and soon he found
in his breast
was boiling, baleful and deep,
pain of poison.
The prince walked on,
wise in his
thought, to the wall of rock;
then sat, and
stared at the structure of giants,
where arch of
stone and steadfast column
upheld forever
that hall in earth.
Yet here must
the hand of the henchman peerless
lave with water
his winsome lord,
the king and
conqueror covered with blood,
with struggle
spent, and unspan his helmet.
Beowulf spake in
spite of his hurt,
his mortal
wound; full well he knew
his portion now
was past and gone
of earthly
bliss, and all had fled
of his file of
days, and death was near:
“I would fain
bestow on son of mine
this gear of
war, were given me now
that any heir
should after me come
of my proper
blood. This people I ruled
fifty winters.
No folk-king was there,
none at all, of
the neighboring clans
who war would
wage me with ‘warriors’-friends’
and threat me
with horrors. At home I bided
what fate might
come, and I cared for mine own;
feuds I sought
not, nor falsely swore
ever on oath.
For all these things,
though fatally
wounded, fain am I!
From the
Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,
when life from
my frame must flee away,
for killing of
kinsmen! Now quickly go
and gaze on that
hoard ‘neath the hoary rock,
Wiglaf loved,
now the worm lies low,
sleeps,
heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.
And fare in
haste. I would fain behold
the gorgeous
heirlooms, golden store,
have joy in the
jewels and gems, lay down
softlier for
sight of this splendid hoard
my life and the
lordship I long have held.”
I HAVE heard
that swiftly the son of Weohstan
at wish and word
of his wounded king, —
war-sick
warrior, — woven mail-coat,
battle-sark,
bore ‘neath the barrow’s roof.
Then the
clansman keen, of conquest proud,
passing the
seat, saw store of jewels
and glistening
gold the ground along;
by the wall were
marvels, and many a vessel
in the den of
the dragon, the dawn-flier old:
unburnished
bowls of bygone men
reft of
richness; rusty helms
of the olden
age; and arm-rings many
wondrously
woven. — Such wealth of gold,
booty from
barrow, can burden with pride
each human
wight: let him hide it who will! —
His glance too
fell on a gold-wove banner
high o’er the
hoard, of handiwork noblest,
brilliantly
broidered; so bright its gleam,
all the
earth-floor he easily saw
and viewed all
these vessels. No vestige now
was seen of the
serpent: the sword had ta’en him.
Then, I heard,
the hill of its hoard was reft,
old work of
giants, by one alone;
he burdened his
bosom with beakers and plate
at his own good
will, and the ensign took,
brightest of
beacons. — The blade of his lord
— its edge was
iron — had injured deep
one that guarded
the golden hoard
many a year and
its murder-fire
spread hot round
the barrow in horror-billows
at midnight
hour, till it met its doom.
Hasted the
herald, the hoard so spurred him
his track to
retrace; he was troubled by doubt,
high-souled
hero, if haply he’d find
alive, where he
left him, the lord of Weders,
weakening fast
by the wall of the cave.
So he carried
the load. His lord and king
he found all
bleeding, famous chief
at the lapse of
life. The liegeman again
plashed him with
water, till point of word
broke through
the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake,
sage and sad, as
he stared at the gold. —
“For the gold
and treasure, to God my thanks,
to the
Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,
for what I
behold, to Heaven’s Lord,
for the grace
that I give such gifts to my folk
or ever the day
of my death be run!
Now I’ve
bartered here for booty of treasure
the last of my
life, so look ye well
to the needs of
my land! No longer I tarry.
A barrow bid ye
the battle-fanned raise
for my ashes.
‘Twill shine by the shore of the flood,
to folk of mine
memorial fair
on Hrones
Headland high uplifted,
that
ocean-wanderers oft may hail
Beowulf’s
Barrow, as back from far
they drive their
keels o’er the darkling wave.”
From his neck he
unclasped the collar of gold,
valorous king,
to his vassal gave it
with bright-gold
helmet, breastplate, and ring,
to the youthful
thane: bade him use them in joy.
“Thou art end
and remnant of all our race
the Waegmunding
name. For Wyrd hath swept them,
all my line, to
the land of doom,
earls in their
glory: I after them go.”
This word was
the last which the wise old man
harbored in
heart ere hot death-waves
of balefire he
chose. From his bosom fled
his soul to seek
the saints’ reward.
on his lord beloved
to look and find him
lying on earth
with life at end,
sorrowful sight.
But the slayer too,
awful
earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled in
fight, nor, fain of its treasure,
could the
writhing monster rule it more.
For edges of
iron had ended its days,
hard and
battle-sharp, hammers’ leaving;
and that
flier-afar had fallen to ground
hushed by its
hurt, its hoard all near,
no longer lusty
aloft to whirl
at midnight,
making its merriment seen,
proud of its
prizes: prone it sank
by the handiwork
of the hero-king.
Forsooth among
folk but few achieve,
— though sturdy
and strong, as stories tell me,
and never so
daring in deed of valor, —
the perilous
breath of a poison-foe
to brave, and to
rush on the ring-board hall,
whenever his
watch the warden keeps
bold in the
barrow. Beowulf paid
the price of
death for that precious hoard;
and each of the
foes had found the end
of this fleeting
life. Befell erelong
that the
laggards in war the wood had left,
trothbreakers,
cowards, ten together,
fearing before
to flourish a spear
in the sore
distress of their sovran lord.
Now in their
shame their shields they carried,
armor of fight,
where the old man lay;
and they gazed
on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat
at his sovran’s
shoulder, shieldsman good,
to wake him with
water. Nowise it availed.
Though well he
wished it, in world no more
could he barrier
life for that leader-of-battles
nor baffle the
will of all-wielding God.
Doom of the Lord
was law o’er the deeds
of every man, as
it is to-day.
Grim was the answer,
easy to get,
from the youth
for those that had yielded to fear!
Wiglaf spake,
the son of Weohstan, —
mournful he
looked on those men unloved:—
“Who sooth will
speak, can say indeed
that the ruler
who gave you golden rings
and the harness
of war in which ye stand
— for he at
ale-bench often-times
bestowed on
hall-folk helm and breastplate,
lord to
liegemen, the likeliest gear
which near of
far he could find to give, —
threw away and
wasted these weeds of battle,
on men who
failed when the foemen came!
Not at all could
the king of his comrades-in-arms
venture to
vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,
God, gave him
grace that he got revenge
sole with his
sword in stress and need.
To rescue his
life, ‘twas little that I
could serve him
in struggle; yet shift I made
(hopeless it
seemed) to help my kinsman.
Its strength
ever waned, when with weapon I struck
that fatal foe,
and the fire less strongly
flowed from its
head. — Too few the heroes
in throe of
contest that thronged to our king!
Now gift of
treasure and girding of sword,
joy of the house
and home-delight
shall fail your
folk; his freehold-land
every clansman
within your kin
shall lose and
leave, when lords highborn
hear afar of
that flight of yours,
a fameless deed.
Yea, death is better
for liegemen all
than a life of shame!”
THAT battle-toil
bade he at burg to announce,
at the fort on
the cliff, where, full of sorrow,
all the morning
earls had sat,
daring
shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:
would they wail
as dead, or welcome home,
their lord
beloved? Little kept back
of the tidings
new, but told them all,
the herald that
up the headland rode. —
“Now the
willing-giver to Weder folk
in death-bed
lies; the Lord of Geats
on the
slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent’s deed!
And beside him
is stretched that slayer-of-men
with
knife-wounds sick: no sword availed
on the awesome
thing in any wise
to work a wound.
There Wiglaf sitteth,
Weohstan’s
bairn, by Beowulf’s side,
the living earl
by the other dead,
and heavy of
heart a head-watch keeps
o’er friend and
foe. — Now our folk may look
for waging of
war when once unhidden
to Frisian and
Frank the fall of the king
is spread afar.
— The strife began
when hot on the
Hugas Hygelac fell
and fared with
his fleet to the Frisian land.
Him there the
Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such
prowess their power o’erwhelming
that the
bold-in-battle bowed beneath it
and fell in
fight. To his friends no wise
could that earl
give treasure! And ever since
the Merowings’
favor has failed us wholly.
Nor aught expect
I of peace and faith
from Swedish
folk. ‘Twas spread afar
how Ongentheow
reft at Ravenswood
Haethcyn
Hrethling of hope and life,
when the folk of
Geats for the first time sought
in wanton pride
the Warlike-Scylfings.
Soon the sage old
sire of Ohtere,
ancient and
awful, gave answering blow;
the
sea-king he slew, and his spouse
redeemed,
his good wife
rescued, though robbed of her gold,
mother of Ohtere
and Onela.
Then he followed
his foes, who fled before him
sore beset and
stole their way,
bereft of a
ruler, to Ravenswood.
With his host he
besieged there what swords had left,
the weary and
wounded; woes he threatened
the whole night
through to that hard-pressed throng:
some with the
morrow his sword should kill,
some should go
to the gallows-tree
for rapture of
ravens. But rescue came
with dawn of day
for those desperate men
when they heard
the horn of Hygelac sound,
tones of his
trumpet; the trusty king
had followed
their trail with faithful band.
THE bloody swath
of Swedes and Geats
and the storm of
their strife, were seen afar,
how folk against
folk the fight had wakened.
The ancient king
with his atheling band
sought his
citadel, sorrowing much:
Ongentheow earl
went up to his burg.
He had tested
Hygelac’s hardihood,
the proud one’s
prowess, would prove it no longer,
defied no more
those fighting-wanderers
nor hoped from
the seamen to save his hoard,
his bairn and
his bride: so he bent him again,
old, to his
earth-walls. Yet after him came
with slaughter
for Swedes the standards of Hygelac
o’er peaceful
plains in pride advancing,
till Hrethelings
fought in the fenced town.
Then Ongentheow
with edge of sword,
the
hoary-bearded, was held at bay,
and the
folk-king there was forced to suffer
Eofor’s anger.
In ire, at the king
Wulf Wonreding
with weapon struck;
and the
chieftain’s blood, for that blow, in streams
flowed ‘neath
his hair. No fear felt he,
stout old
Scylfing, but straightway repaid
in better
bargain that bitter stroke
and faced his
foe with fell intent.
Nor swift enough
was the son of Wonred
answer to render
the aged chief;
too soon on his
head the helm was cloven;
blood-bedecked
he bowed to earth,
and fell adown;
not doomed was he yet,
and well he
waxed, though the wound was sore.
Then the hardy
Hygelac-thane,
when his brother
fell, with broad brand smote,
giants’ sword
crashing through giants’-helm
across the
shield-wall: sank the king,
his folk’s old
herdsman, fatally hurt.
There were many
to bind the brother’s wounds
and lift him,
fast as fate allowed
his people to
wield the place-of-war.
But Eofor took
from Ongentheow,
earl from other,
the iron-breastplate,
hard sword
hilted, and helmet too,
and the
hoar-chief’s harness to Hygelac carried,
who took the
trappings, and truly promised
rich fee ‘mid
folk, — and fulfilled it so.
For that grim
strife gave the Geatish lord,
Hrethel’s
offspring, when home he came,
to Eofor and
Wulf a wealth of treasure,
Each of them had
a hundred thousand
in land and
linked rings; nor at less price reckoned
mid-earth men
such mighty deeds!
And to Eofor he
gave his only daughter
in pledge of
grace, the pride of his home.
“Such is the
feud, the foeman’s rage,
death-hate of
men: so I deem it sure
that the Swedish
folk will seek us home
for this fall of
their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,
when once they
learn that our warrior leader
lifeless lies,
who land and hoard
ever defended
from all his foes,
furthered his
folk’s weal, finished his course
a hardy hero. —
Now haste is best,
that we go to
gaze on our Geatish lord,
and bear the
bountiful breaker-of-rings
to the funeral
pyre. No fragments merely
shall burn with
the warrior. Wealth of jewels,
gold untold and
gained in terror,
treasure at last
with his life obtained,
all of that
booty the brands shall take,
fire shall eat
it. No earl must carry
memorial jewel.
No maiden fair
shall wreathe
her neck with noble ring:
nay, sad in
spirit and shorn of her gold,
oft shall she
pass o’er paths of exile
now our lord all
laughter has laid aside,
all mirth and
revel. Many a spear
morning-cold
shall be clasped amain,
lifted aloft;
nor shall lilt of harp
those warriors
wake; but the wan-hued raven,
fain o’er the
fallen, his feast shall praise
and boast to the
eagle how bravely he ate
when he and the
wolf were wasting the slain.”
So he told his
sorrowful tidings,
and little he lied, the loyal man
of word or of
work. The warriors rose;
sad, they
climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,
went, welling
with tears, the wonder to view.
Found on the
sand there, stretched at rest,
their lifeless
lord, who had lavished rings
of old upon
them. Ending-day
had dawned on
the doughty-one; death had seized
in woful
slaughter the Weders’ king.
There saw they,
besides, the strangest being,
loathsome, lying
their leader near,
prone on the
field. The fiery dragon,
fearful fiend,
with flame was scorched.
Reckoned by
feet, it was fifty measures
in length as it
lay. Aloft erewhile
it had revelled
by night, and anon come back,
seeking its den;
now in death’s sure clutch
it had come to
the end of its earth-hall joys.
By it there
stood the stoups and jars;
dishes lay
there, and dear-decked swords
eaten with rust,
as, on earth’s lap resting,
a thousand
winters they waited there.
For all that
heritage huge, that gold
of bygone men,
was bound by a spell,
so the
treasure-hall could be touched by none
of human kind, —
save that Heaven’s King,
God himself,
might give whom he would,
Helper of
Heroes, the hoard to open, —
even such a man
as seemed to him meet.
A PERILOUS path,
it proved, he trod
who heinously
hid, that hall within,
wealth under
wall! Its watcher had killed
one of a
few, and the feud was avenged
in woful
fashion. Wondrous seems it,
what manner a
man of might and valor
oft ends his
life, when the earl no longer
in mead-hall may
live with loving friends.
So Beowulf, when
that barrow’s warden
he sought, and
the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he
should wend from the world at last.
For princes potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to
doomsday covered it deep,
so that marked
with sin the man should be,
hedged with
horrors, in hell-bonds fast,
racked with
plagues, who should rob their hoard.
Yet no greed for
gold, but the grace of heaven,
ever the king
had kept in view.
Wiglaf spake,
the son of Weohstan:—
“At the mandate
of one, oft warriors many
sorrow must
suffer; and so must we.
The
people’s-shepherd showed not aught
of care for our
counsel, king beloved!
That guardian of
gold he should grapple not, urged we,
but let him lie
where he long had been
in his
earth-hall waiting the end of the world,
the hest of
heaven. — This hoard is ours
but grievously
gotten; too grim the fate
which thither
carried our king and lord.
I was within
there, and all I viewed,
the chambered
treasure, when chance allowed me
(and my path was
made in no pleasant wise)
under the
earth-wall. Eager, I seized
such heap from
the hoard as hands could bear
and hurriedly
carried it hither back
to my liege and
lord. Alive was he still,
still wielding
his wits. The wise old man
spake much in
his sorrow, and sent you greetings
and bade that ye
build, when he breathed no more,
on the place of
his balefire a barrow high,
memorial mighty.
Of men was he
worthiest
warrior wide earth o’er
the while he had
joy of his jewels and burg.
Let us set out
in haste now, the second time
to see and
search this store of treasure,
these wall-hid
wonders, — the way I show you, —
where, gathered
near, ye may gaze your fill
at broad-gold
and rings. Let the bier, soon made,
be all in order
when out we come,
our king and
captain to carry thither
— man beloved —
where long he shall bide
safe in the
shelter of sovran God.”
Then the bairn
of Weohstan bade command,
hardy chief, to heroes
many
that owned their
homesteads, hither to bring
firewood from
far — o’er the folk they ruled —
for the
famed-one’s funeral. “ Fire shall devour
and wan flames
feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood
stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from
the string, a storm of arrows
shot o’er the
shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly
feathered, followed the barb.”
And now the sage
young son of Weohstan
seven chose of
the chieftain’s thanes,
the best he
found that band within,
and went with
these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile
roof. In hand one bore
a lighted torch
and led the way.
No lots they
cast for keeping the hoard
when once the
warriors saw it in hall,
altogether
without a guardian,
lying there
lost. And little they mourned
when they had
hastily haled it out,
dear-bought
treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o’er
the wall for the wave to take,
and surges
swallowed that shepherd of gems.
Then the woven
gold on a wain was laden —
countless quite!
— and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to
Hrones-Ness.
THEN fashioned
for him the folk of Geats
firm on the
earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with
helmets and harness of war
and breastplates
bright, as the boon he asked;
and they laid
amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning
their master dear.
Then on the hill
that hugest of balefires
the warriors
wakened. Wood-smoke rose
black over
blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with
weeping (the wind was still),
till the fire
had broken the frame of bones,
hot at the
heart. In heavy mood
their misery
moaned they, their master’s death.
Wailing her woe,
the widow old,
her hair
upbound, for Beowulf’s death
sung in her
sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the
doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and
doom of battle,
and shame. — The
smoke by the sky was devoured.
The folk of the
Weders fashioned there
on the headland
a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers
far descried:
in ten days’
time their toil had raised it,
the
battle-brave’s beacon. Round brands of the pyre
a wall they
built, the worthiest ever
that wit could
prompt in their wisest men.
They placed in
the barrow that precious booty,
the rounds and
the rings they had reft erewhile,
hardy heroes,
from hoard in cave, —
trusting the
ground with treasure of earls,
gold in the
earth, where ever it lies
useless to men
as of yore it was.
Then about that
barrow the battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a
band of twelve,
lament to make,
to mourn their king,
chant their
dirge, and their chieftain honor.
They praised his
earlship, his acts of prowess
worthily
witnessed: and well it is
that men their
master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love,
when hence he goes
from life in the
body forlorn away.
Thus made their
mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero’s
passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of
all the kings of earth,
of men he was
mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the
kindest, keenest for praise.
Etext
version by Robin Katsuya-Corbet; released into the public domain July 1993. Subheadings stolen from the Norton Anthology of English Literature
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